


Mark of the Raven

by ElliotQuill (Wolvyrnx)



Series: The Halfling Scrolls [1]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Assassins, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, F/F, F/M, Factions, Fantasy, High Fantasy, Humans, Light Magic, Magic, Multi, Original Fiction, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Wizards, light - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11949774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolvyrnx/pseuds/ElliotQuill
Summary: Light and Dark have never gotten along.It only got worse when the humans became assassins and witches.Light Assassins fought with anyone who was dark. Dark Witches hexed anyone who was light.Six continents, five races.One hybrid to unite them all.----------------------First there was the Great Split. Humans split between those aligned with order and those aligned with chaos.Then there was the Second Great Split. One third of the human population became Halflings, specialized assassins. One third became Valkyries, Magic users. One third remained.The five factions would never get along.They weren't meant to.





	1. Prologue

Stumbling over the hem of her cloak, Cyrene rolled to her feet and leapt down the palace stairs, kicking off and tangling one blood stained hand into the mane of a large white stallion. 

"Let's go, Bellosine!"

The horse, his ears pricking up, reared up gently and galloped off with Cyrene clinging to his mane. As she managed to hook her leg over his back, she looked back to see Prince Aedryn staring after her, one hand hesitantly outstretched. She smirked and looked ahead to the trees. 

"I think we're out of their range. At our pace we'll be home in no time."

Bellosine shook his head roughly. Cyrene laughed and leaned in close to his ear. 

"I have fresh oats for you."

His whinny was lost to the wind, as was her thrilled cry. A thundering of hooves behind her caught her attention and Cyrene glared behind her. Her eyes widened and she hurriedly urged Bellosine on faster. 

"Come on, Bell. It's a Furiant. And not just one, but two. Let's give them a wild ride."

Bellosine snorted and tossed his head. It was time to teach the young ones how a game was played. His hooves pounded the forest floor, weaving in and out of trees at a blinding speed. Ducking close to his neck, Cyrene's head barely skimmed under branches, and once or twice she nearly found herself missing one of her own limbs out of carelessness. 

"That's it. Show them how a Clouded Furiant dances."

Furiants were highly evolved horses with extraordinary abilities. A Furiant foal could easily match the pace of a full grown horse, and a Clouded Furiant could run at full speed through a forest, something few royal guards were willing to risk. Even as Bellosine slid around boulders and scraped past fallen logs, Cyrene reveled in the joys of riding. It seemed she wouldn't for long, however. One of the men raised a crossbow; they were going to shoot her down. 

"Come on, Bell."

It would be of no use. A weighted net fell over her and tangled itself in Bellosine's legs. He nickered angrily and pulled up to a stop, nearly throwing Cyrene off in the process. 

"Bell, be careful."

As she struggled with the net Bellosine slowed to a stop, shifting his footing in the dense forest floor. Royal soldiers swarmed around the two of them, swords held at Cyrene's throat. 

"Now, the Prince has asked for your attendance in his court. See to it that you pay him the proper respects."

"I'll respect him when I have reason to." She sneered. 

"Don't forget the position you're in right now, vagabond." 

The man sneered right back at her and tapped his blade against her cheek, leaving a small cut. With blood dripping slowly to her jaw, she pulled out a dagger. Immediately all eight soldiers bristled, their swords raised once more. 

"Can I cut the net off without being beheaded?"

Rolling her eyes, she tore away at the ropes, all the while shooting glares at the soldiers. One of the men whispered something to the lead guard and he hissed back, staring at Cyrene with a skeptical eye. 

"Alright. Let's go." She tossed the net to the ground. 

"I will be the only one giving orders around here, young lady."

"I'm no lady, soldier. Let's get that straight."

At the slightest pressure on his right shoulder Bellosine followed the two Furiants. Cyrene took note of chinks in the royal armor, ready to kill them if necessary. She wasn't about to take any risks. Her scrutiny managed to go unnoticed; it was a miracle none of the soldiers had even noticed the large rapier hanging at her hip. Bellosine stepped carefully through the underbrush as the trees slowly thinned and they approached the palace again with Cyrene in tow. 

"Now, you will greet the Prince like you would any royalty."

"I don't greet royalty."

The soldier gritted his teeth and Cyrene silently cheered. 

"You will today, young criminal."

Cyrene sighed and ran a hand through Bellosine's thick white mane. His soft snort was a comfort, if nothing else, and she tightened her knees around his back. 

"If I am to leave my horse outside, I will see to it that he is properly taken care of and no less."

"We have stable boys for that."

"I will do it myself."

Her voice rang with a steely edge and the soldiers exchanged glances. It was a moment before he conceded, seething to himself. Before them, the palace loomed, ivory stone towers brightly lit by the sun. To her surprise, the Prince stood waiting on the steps, staring curiously at Cyrene. 

"Baldor, if you'll be so kind as to let the girl do as she wishes with her stallion that would please me greatly. Escort her inside afterwards."

Baldor nodded to the Prince and gave her a cold glare before gesturing sharply to the right. Her hair, long and dark, stuck to her neck until she pulled it away, letting it hang over her shoulders and down her back. Five years without cutting her hair had left it untamed and it hung in thick black curtains that reached her waist. 

"The stable is that way. I will take you personally."

Cyrene laughed dryly and complied, nudging Bellosine in the direction the soldier was headed. Staring blankly at the back of his head, she contemplated running her blade through his skull, just to see what it would feel like. Would it even puncture at all?

"Do what you need to, then come back out."

The stable looked to be in good condition, though the materials were rather drab for a palace and a Prince. Cyrene swept the straw from a stall and tugged a protesting Bellosine in. 

"Just for a little while. I'll be back soon."

She planted a short kiss on his nose and tossed two forkfuls of hay into the stall. Pouring a small bag of oats into a bucket, she left him with a smile. 

"Sit tight, Bell."

Baldor scowled at her and led the way back to the palace. Cyrene's footsteps were silent, a telling difference from the clicking steps Baldor took. She instinctively laid a hand on her rapier and flicked her gaze from the palace steps back to him, wondering if she could run fast enough. It wasn't worth it yet. 

"Let's go. The Prince is waiting."

Once inside Cyrene was drawn to the sweeping staircase running the length of the front hall. Immediately Baldor pushed her forward beneath the stairs and into another hall beyond, and she growled low in her throat. 

"Watch it, guard dog." She spat in his face. 

"Hurry up."

Turning back to the large doors in front of her, she pushed them open and breezed into the hall. 

"Welcome, Cyrene Crestavien. Or, shall we say, Smokescar?"

"How do you know who I am? More importantly, how do you know my actual name?"

"I'm the Prince. I have to know everyone."

He smiled and steepled his fingers, then waved her forward. Cyrene didn't move. Her suspicions kept her planted by the door, wary and careful. 

"Show some respect!"

Cyrene, startled, looked around her. The Prince's attendants were kneeling, heads bowed and eyes lowered. Occasionally one would muster the courage to glare at her before staring back at the floor. 

"Relax. This is a civil discussion."

She narrowed her eyes, subtly shifting into a gentle crouch. With one hand hovering over her sword, Cyrene was ready to slaughter the entire room if necessary. 

"What do you want, prince?"

"You outran and outsmarted half of my men and mercilessly killed the other half. It's safe to say that you're skilled in your field, is it not?"

"Throw me into prison if you want, boy. I've had worse."

The Prince threw his head back with laughter and shook his head. 

"No, no, no. I want to offer you a position here in the castle."


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later, Cyrene is well adjusted. For now.

The shadows hid her white stallion surprisingly well. Bellosine stood quietly, shaking his tail every so often, and she tapped his nose twice. Stay. Cyrene was very tempted to get on his back and just run away, away from the Prince and away from the royalty. He gave her shelter, however, and the freedom to hunt her own food. At first he had given her a room within the palace, but Cyrene had felt smothered and contained. At her insistence he let her sleep in the stables with Bellosine. 

Cyrene watched the straw hut in front of her very carefully. Her eyes, a deep shade of cerulean, searched the land suspiciously. According to the Prince, the man who lived in this wreck of a home was a wanted criminal, a man of the Thicket Valkyries. As opposed to Mountain Valkyries, who used Light magic, Thicket Vaklyries used Dark magic and caused more destruction than good. In any case, Cyrene was supposed to bring back the man's severed left arm, eagle crest or not. A breeze fluttered through her bearskin cloak, tickling her arms. Nothing was moving, not even the trees, and Cyrene narrowed her eyes. Something was afoot and she couldn't afford to be careless. 

Creeping from shadow to shadow, she approached the hut cautiously. Not a sound could be heard from within, not even with her pointed ears, and Cyrene was immediately suspicious. The back door was locked. She pulled out a small length of wire and bent it in half before sliding it into the lock and clicking it open. To proceed would be to risk her life for a Prince of all people, but after three years she was used to it. It wasn't hard to follow the loud snoring coming from the largest room in the hut. It was even less difficult to stop and observe the sleeping figure sprawled on the chair. The challenge came when the man woke up with a start, looking all around him in a daze. 

"Who's there?"

From her position just inside the door, Cyrene watched and waited, holding her breath as long as she could before taking another. Pulling her cloak tighter around herself, she shrank into the shadows. 

"I know you're in here. Show yourself now."

His voice shook with his age, and as the man stood she raised her eyebrows. He took a few labored breaths before scanning the room again, his eyes skipping over where she stood hidden by the shadow of the door. Cyrene resisted the urge to pounce out and kill him right there, but all the same she slid a small dagger out of her belt. If she got lucky, she could slit his throat while he was turned away. It would be clean and easy, and she could be done with this.

"Don't make me resort to Dark magic. I've killed many with it and I won't be bothered by one more."

She grinned as she watched him tremble in his steps. It didn't look like he could handle much anymore, so this would be simple enough. Silently she crouched and readied her knife. The man slowly turned in circles, Dark magic swirling around his hand. Finally, his back faced her and she leaped out with her dagger in hand, cloak billowing behind her. Before she could finish her job, however, he spun around and jabbed his hand at her, slinging dark magic at her face.

"Found you!"

"Found, but not caught, old man."

Cyrene ducked and stepped quickly behind him to slash at his knees. Unfortunately for her even if he couldn't walk his magic could reach her. She had to incapacitate him somehow. A searing pain in her left arm alerted her to the blow he had just landed on her. Cursing, Cyrene shook herself out and pulled a second knife from her belt. Maybe this would work today. She kicked off her back foot, lunging in and swiping at his face. While he was distracted, she let her other hand swing up to his throat, releasing the knife from her hand. As the knife hit his throat, the old man flew backward and the knife lodged in the wall, clean through his neck.

"Anything to say, old man?"

His voice gurgled in his blood, which dripped thick down his chest. She pulled her knife from his throat and cackled as his last breaths left him. One swift slice was all that was needed to sever his arm; she shoved the offending limb into a burlap satchel and stood with a sneer.

"Find me now."

When she stepped out the door, Cyrene whistled shrilly. It wasn't long before she could hear Bellosine's hooves thundering on the grassy ground. His white mane stuck out against the green and brown of the hills, a long whinny breaking the silence. She grinned, and as Bellosine cantered by she jumped and grabbed onto his mane. Swinging her leg over his back, she patted his neck.

"Back to the royal palace, Bell."

Back in Flightwick, the Prince stood waiting on the castle steps and she briefly flashed back to her first encounter with him. She'd been so stupid back then, breaking into the royal palace of all places, but it had given her advantages she never would have dreamed of. Nobody questioned her anymore. In fact, few dared even approach her. Her requests were carried out nearly immediately, especially in bars and taverns, and she could bow heads simply by casting her gaze over them. It was tiring, however, to deal with terrified townspeople fearing her no matter how placid she was.

"The assassin returns."

"Here you go, Prince. Take your prize. You know where to find me."

"Actually, I want to ask you to join me for dinner tonight."

"We both know how I feel about being inside the palace. Either way, I have no clothes that will appease Baldor. You know how he gets if I'm not up to his standards."

"You're scared of Baldor? And I can get you clothing."

"No, I hate his attitude. Know the difference." She pointedly ignored his offer. 

The Prince laughed lightly and sighed.

"Won't you join me just this once?"

"Sorry, but I'll have to refuse. If I see Baldor's whiny face one more time I might slaughter him as well."

At that, he winced. Her merciless run through his castle still pained him, clearly, and she smirked. Three years couldn't dull royal pride, though if she were honest with herself her own pride was worse.

"Maybe someday in the future, then."

"Maybe."

Tossing him the arm, she nudged Bellosine and they headed slowly to the stables. He snorted softly, tossing his head, and she laughed.

"I know. It's about as likely as you learning how to fly without wings."

The wind was gentle, blowing calmly through the barn with a nearly inaudible whistle. Cyrene had taken to sleeping in the upper loft, keeping herself out of the drafty stable below. Bellosine enjoyed himself in his stall, chewing quietly on dry straw and grass. It had taken her a year to ask the Prince his name, another to ask of his parents, and a third to ask of his faction. Prince Aedryn, youngest son of the late King Giddaul and Queen Awrilette, was a human. His entire ancestry was human. Her own was complicated. According to her father, she came from a long line of esteemed Twilight Halflings, highly specialized assassins with reflexes and strength beyond that of the humans. Twilight Halflings were aligned with the Light, Clockwork Halflings with the Dark. 

Dropping down to Bellosine's stall with a thump, she ducked under him and tapped his right foreleg three times. Observe. Someone was nearby and watching the stable. She closed her eyes and opened her ears to the surroundings, listening carefully. Then, she heard it. From the east wall, a patch of grass crackled. By the sound of it, the eavesdropper was someone of heavy stature, someone muscular and well trained. Someone like Baldor. 

"I know you're there. You might as well come in and greet me properly."

As she stepped out from behind Bellosine a young man stood in the door, staring at her with a mix of admiration and caution. His boots crunched in the loose straw on the stable floor and he fidgeted with his hands as she scrutinized him. She hadn't been entirely correct, after all. This intruder was of lighter muscle, clearly well trained but slim all the same. 

"What's your name, young man?"

"Araden Tierwynn. Stable manager."

"I assume you know who I am. I haven't the friendliest reputation."

"Yes, I do know of you. I must say, but never tell the Prince, that I hold you in quite high regard."

"I tell the Prince all that is necessary and nothing more."

Araden paled slightly at the steely edge in her voice until she cracked a large grin. His eyes hesitantly lit up with a soft echo of her amusement, and he chuckled quietly.

"Oh, loosen up. I'm not some imbecile who runs around killing everyone. I think before I assassinate."

"Well, at least that makes one."

"Why have I never seen you around before?"

"I only began my work here recently after the old stable manager died."

"I see."

She had never really paid attention to palace workers, too busy with training herself. Cyrene paused and slid her gaze to him, nodding gently to Bellosine. 

"Care to go for a ride?"

Araden raised one eyebrow. He looked Bellosine up and down, hardly flinching when the large stallion walked right to him to sniff his shirt. Cyrene tossed Araden a large carrot and winked. Bellosine's nostrils flared at the smell of the carrot and he turned to Araden, surprisingly gentle as he reached for it with his teeth. 

"Have you ever had a ride on a Clouded Furiant?"

"I have not. How did you two come by each other?"

"I found him alone in the woods. He was unhurt, and I was tired. It took him two weeks to trust me completely."

Araden smiled in awe, eyes trained on Bellosine's rippling muscles. He let the white horse sniff around a while before looking back at Cyrene. 

"Do you think he'll let me on his back?"

"Can you ride without a saddle?"

Araden grinned wildly. 

"That's the only way I do."

"Let's go, then!"

Hooking his fingers in Bellosine's mane, he leaped up onto his back and nudged his ribs gently. In a stomping of hooves, Bellosine was out of the stable. Luckily, Cyrene managed to grab hold of her stallion's mane as well, pulling herself up behind Araden. 

"Alright, Bell! Let's show him how a Clouded Furiant rides."

She let out an unruly yell and off they went. Bellosine's gallop led them back into the woods, through trees and over streams. The terrain disappeared behind them; Araden laughed brilliantly, relishing the freedom and change of scenery. 

"No wonder you stay so close to him."

As Bellosine picked up on the change in Cyrene's signals he slowed to a stop. This was where the two of them usually stopped anyway. The lake splashed gently against the shore, rippling in and out with a soft rhythm. Bellosine pricked his ears and trotted down to the water's edge, drawing in long gulps of cold water. 

"Come here often?"

"Often is quite the understatement. I spend more time here than at the palace."

Cyrene sighed and threw her cloak over a low hanging branch. The sun was bright, illuminating the clearing and reflecting off the water surface; a breeze blew around the lake and her hair, long and dark, danced and waved. It wasn't hard to relax here, yet she felt herself naturally on edge all the same. There had been far too many close calls for her to let her guard down.

"You're tense." 

Araden's statement was a simple observation, nothing more, but she felt the inquisitive undertone in his voice all the same. Cyrene looked quickly at him and then at the lake, exhaling slowly.

"I've nearly died from letting my guard down. I can't afford to let it happen again."

"You seem to be doing alright so far."

"I know, but that won't last long. Even with my reputation I have enemies targeting me."

He was silent for a moment, then he lifted his gaze to her.

"Have you ever thought of being an escort?"

"Spending my entire life defending one person? And for what? I have never considered such a prospect, and I don't think I ever will."

Cyrene knew she sounded accusatory, but the idea of being an escort disgusted her to the point of complete aversion. She clicked her tongue and Bellosine turned his head. His eyes seemed to beg her for a few more minutes, his tail flicking from side to side. 

"Alright, but only a few."

"You two seem to know each other quite well."

"Well, over six years together does that, I would assume."

Araden smiled and took a deep breath. His shoulders relaxed, tension in his arms quickly dissipating. 

"I can see why you come here so much."

"It's the only place I really feel comfortable."

"You seem less like an assassin here, if I'm honest with you."

"How so?"

"You look like you're enjoying yourself. You don't look like you want to kill everyone in sight."

"Perhaps. There isn't much to say I don't want to kill everyone in sight, but perhaps you are correct."

"Well, do you want to kill everyone in sight? Because I sure would like to live past my mere twenty one years."

"Two years separate us and yet I've witnessed near death infinitely many more times than you have. How is that?"

"Few odds are as uneven as those we favor least."

Cyrene stared blankly at the sand under her feet. His words couldn't be truer; the old proverbs all rang with some degree of truth, even after thousands of years. Brushing off her vulnerable despair, she whistled to Bellosine. 

"We should head back." She gestured curtly to Bellosine. 

"Of course."

Just like that, the moment between them was shattered. Araden quietly mourned what could have been a vibrant friendship. Sometimes such trivial matters in life were not suited for everyone.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrene clashes with the prince and finds a friend.

Bellosine snorted as he stamped one hoof in the straw. He didn't like the confines of the stall and he was going to make it known. Araden had been kind enough to show her where the extra grain was stored, and Cyrene poured a sizable amount into the trough. 

"There, you whiny old horse."

Bellosine butted her with his nose and she sighed. 

"I know you're a Furiant. Relax."

Cyrene then threw down the rope she had snuck from the palace stores. Sitting by Bellosine's forelegs, she began knotting the ropes together, slowly but surely weaving herself a hammock. Every so often her stallion would lean down and poke his nose into the grain, nickering as if he had eaten better. She raised an eyebrow, nudging him gently. 

"Don't be rude, Bell."

He tossed his mane and flicked his tail at her, a disgruntled spark in his eyes. When Cyrene ignored him, he gingerly stepped around her and walked out of the stable. She kept knotting the ropes together until finally her hammock started to take shape. Rolling her eyes, she dropped the ropes and left the stable to find her white stallion standing with Araden untangling the knots in his mane by hand. 

"He's taken a liking to you, lucky boy."

Araden chuckled and shrugged. 

"I've never had much experience with Furiants, much less Clouded Furiants."

"Why not?"

"They don't like the royal family. The Furiants are highly intelligent and I suspect they know things about royals that we don't expect them to."

He had a fair point. Clouded Furiants were few and far between, and if someone was lucky enough to be chosen by one they were bound to be of great potential indeed. Cyrene hadn't realized what Bellosine's choice had meant until long after they started traveling together. She clicked her tongue and Bellosine's ears pricked up, his eyes shining in the sun.

"Furiants know." She smirked.

"He trusts you completely."

Araden's eyes glittered and she watched him serenely.

"He's a smart one. I would trust him with my life, and he knows that."

"How long does it usually take him to trust someone else?"

"Well, as long as you don't tick me off, it shouldn't take very long."

As if to prove her point, Bellosine reached out with his nose to tap Araden's chest, a low whinny rumbling from deep within his chest. There was a moment when everything stopped and the air stood still. In that moment, Araden kept his gaze lowered and held a hand out to Bellosine, waiting breathlessly for a response. Cyrene found herself slowly letting a smile touch her lips as Bellosine calmly met the outstretched hand with his snout. 

"Congratulations. He approves."

"Has this ever happened before?"

"Nobody else has been brave enough or courteous enough to try, much less try correctly."

Cyrene laughed quickly and watched as the white Furiant danced around the pasture, a strong energy to his gait. All of a sudden he stood stock still and stared in the direction of the palace. Araden raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. 

"I assume you know who's coming?"

"Of course I do. Only the royal family smells like that."

"Impressive," he muttered.

"Araden! What are you doing, slacking off? You have things to do."

"Actually I asked him to. I needed to get Bell used to him."

"For what purpose?"

"Well, in case I'm too busy to care for him at any moment."

"You never leave your horse's side. What possible occasion could there possibly be?"

"You forget, Prince, that a horse can't go everywhere."

Prince Aedryn sighed and nodded, conceding to her. It had taken him a surprising amount of time to adjust to her strong personality. Few were so brazen as to argue with a prince, and Aedryn's fiery temper made it no less shocking. Eventually he had tired of the arguments, however, and as Cyrene was not one to back down he had learned to hold his tongue around her.

"Fair enough. Cyrene, I have a new assignment."

"Hadn't we agreed not to use my name? Or was that conversation all my imagining?"

"My apologies, Smokescar."

Aedryn leered at her and she gave him a stone cold glare. 

"Remember who the assassin is around here, young royal."

"True, but you may benefit from remembering your elders, child."

"Death makes no exceptions for royalty and you know it. Either way, that dove crest on your left arm tells me you won't live as long as I will. Or do you not remember our many conversations about this as well?"

"A falcon crest does you no good when you are locked deep in the palace dungeons."

Cyrene steamed in her shoes and Bellosine stepped up to her right shoulder, snorting angrily. Her hands curled slowly as she let her anger dissipate. The Prince was only three years older than she, despite his ramblings, and she was inclined to let him remember exactly that.

"Good luck finding another Halfling that will do your bidding for you. Not all of us are so willing to follow orders, you know."

Out of spite she tapped her Furiant's nose twice and stormed toward the palace. Her intent was to walk down to the dungeons and lock herself in, but the Prince grabbed her arm before she could make it inside. Yanking her arm away and spinning on one heel, Cyrene hissed from the back of her throat.

"What? Are you ready to respect me enough to keep me around now?"

"I meant no disrespect."

"Halflings are a proud race, boy, and you crossed a very dangerous line, you know."

"It won't happen again."

Though his tone was firm, Aedryn was visibly pale. Cyrene narrowed her eyes and whistled to Bellosine, jumping on his back. 

"You had best be sure it doesn't."

As she passed Araden, he opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it immediately after. Without a word, Cyrene reached a hand down to him and pulled him up behind her. Bellosine then cantered off, leaving the Prince to return to his chambers alone, and Cyrene seethed in peace. She wasn't sure where Bellosine was taking them, and she didn't care. As long as he could find his way back it didn't matter. 

"Are you coming with us? Or are you staying here?"

"Let me off at the stable. That will be all."

Bellosine slowed to a walk by the low roofed building and Araden slid off, lifting a hand silently in farewell.

"I'll be in the loft if you need me."

She sighed and urged Bellosine on faster. She had no idea how much time it would take her to calm down. The Prince didn't have to know. Maybe, if she felt inclined, she would invite Araden to join her for dinner to spite the haughty ruler. 

"He didn't even give me my assignment."

Bellosine nickered. It was her own fault. 

"Not entirely. If the Prince weren't so stuck up it wouldn't have been an issue."

At that Bellosine shook his head. She had a point there. The Prince has a superiority complex that few had the patience to deal with, and Cyrene had a hard enough time negotiating with his as it was. Bellosine's hooves thumped rhythmically against the dirt road and as he slowed to a walk Cyrene sighed. 

"Let's just roam for some time. Aedryn can wait."

Bellosine stamped one hoof into the dirt and continued his lazy walk. Cyrene dismounted, sliding her dagger into her hand. 

"Requiem is getting filthy."

The blade was covered in dried blood and grime, most likely from that Valkyrie, and the handle was caked with dirt. Her hands deftly wiped the knife to a shine and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. 

"Cleaner than the royal family."

Her sarcastic reply did not go unnoticed. A soft snicker from the bushes at the edge of the worn path caught her ear and she stopped. Staring at the bush, Cyrene felt the tips of her ears tingling. Someone was there, whether they wanted to be found or not. 

"Show yourself." She shifted the knife in her hand. 

"You're looking a little too low."

From the small tree behind the bush dropped a slim figure, wings and all. Cyrene met the fairy's gaze with curious caution; the fairy returned the expression, lavender eyes flitting between Requiem and Cyrene's face. 

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my woods?"

Fairies were forest guardians. They lived to protect the trees and lands they resided in, and as such were very careful when letting others through. 

"I am Cyrene Crestavien, a Halfling. I come for a walk and nothing more."

The young fairy raised an eyebrow and closed his wings. 

"May I join you?"

Fairies had tempers and it was never a wise decision to anger one. Often, they accompanied strangers through the woods in fear of what could go wrong. Even those that passed by regularly did not go without a guide. Fairies were adept at detecting lies, but only so much. 

"Of course."

Cyrene smiled tightly. It was never wise to refuse a fairy either. Their claws, though short, were sharp and dangerous. 

"Cyrene, I am Naelys. Welcome to my forest."

"Thank you. I see you are very proud of it, and rightfully so."

A fairy's forest was a very clear indicator of the fairy's pride. The more a fairy loved and took pride in their forest, the more it grew and the healthier it became. Naelys took great pride in his trees, and it showed quite elegantly. 

"Do many come this way?"

"I cannot say. You are the first to come this way in two millennia."

"Millennia?"

"Yes. I hid my forest from all but those with the Sight. Yet you have no fairy blood in you?"

His voice lilted gracefully into a question and Cyrene pursed her lips thoughtfully. She had no fairy blood in her, which was a fact, and few who were not at least part fairy had the Sight. 

"Correct. I have no fairy blood in me."

"Odd. Not impossible, but highly unlikely."

Cyrene mumbled a reciprocation, beckoning Bellosine closer to her. No matter how friendly Naelys seemed she was wary, as she always had been, of forest fairies. At the very least, with Bellosine around he seemed reluctant to provoke her. 

"You seem to be one of the fortunate, chosen by such a magnificent Clouded Furiant."

"Indeed. I take it you haven't encountered many of my kind."

"Well, as it is, I heard a rumor recently that only seventeen Clouded Furiants are still alive."

"That's worrisome."

She fiddled quietly with her dagger, a frown wrinkling her brow. If there really were only seventeen left then it was likely the remaining Clouded Furiants would be the last to ever see the light of day. All the same, at no point in time had there ever existed more than thirty at the same time. 

"Well, we do not know how they come to exist. It could be that they form out of the dust in the air."

"If such an idea is true then we may not need to worry about the population. Even so, I cannot help but wonder."

Naelys glanced at her and then at Bellosine, a glimmer in his eyes. 

"This one trusts you. Astonishing."

"How so?"

"You don't know? Not many of the Clouded breed are so comfortable with those of our shape."

"Interesting. I hadn't realized."

"This one, his name is Bellosine, if I am correct?"

"You are."

"Very few who stand on two legs have been able to form such a bond with Clouded Furiants."

"I suppose that's just the nature of how we are. I knew about Clouded Furiants long before I knew how to fight. I knew how few there were, I knew their behaviors. I knew nearly everything about them."

"Then I assume you also knew how to interact with them."

"That's how I knew what to do. I had to gain his trust."

"Something not many care to do."

Cyrene smirked bitterly. 

"Clouded Riders have bad reputations. I'm not enough to dispel that."

"If I can help at all, let me know."

She blinked in surprise. In all her life, of all of the fairies she'd met, none had been as kind as he. It was a welcome change, despite her suspicions, and she felt herself start to smile. 

"I suppose we will see about that. Much remains to be seen."

Naelys laughed and fluttered his wings lightly. Cyrene had never known how they didn't rip, so delicate and translucent. It had taken her quite some time to discover how a fairy's muscles controlled their wings, and even more to determine their wings structure. Naelys' were quite beautiful. Threads of blue and violet veins circled and looped through the shimmering wings, and when in the light they sparkled like glass. 

"I should probably head back."

"Where to?"

"The last place I would ever want to be."

"And where is that?"

"The royal palace."

A shadow passed across his face and Naelys hissed under his breath. 

"We fairies have never liked the royal family or their workers. They do not treat us very well, you understand."

"I don't work there by choice. It was either work for them or die, and I didn't have the kind of personal honor worthy of death yet."

"I wish you luck, and I hope you prove to be different than those who came before you."

The three of them began the leisurely walk back to the edge of his forest, where Cyrene turned to him. 

"Many thanks for allowing me through your forest."

"My pleasure."

Naelys gave her a warm smile and clicked his tongue to Bellosine. The Furiant nudged Naelys playfully before inviting Cyrene back up. She tugged herself onto his back, smiling quickly at Naelys. 

"Will I be welcome to future visits?"

"As long as you come on civil terms."

As Bellosine broke into a full canter, she looked back, echoing Naelys' raised hand. Perhaps she had a second place to escape to now.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to learn more about the dynamic between these three, isn't it? The prince is hiding things, but so is Cyrene. How much does Araden know?

True to his word, Araden was dozing lightly in the stable when she returned. Quietly letting Bellosine into his stall, she picked up her ropes and absorbed herself in them once more. Ignoring the chafing at her fingertips, Cyrene knotted diligently, intent on finishing the hammock that day. Engrossed with the task at hand, she hardly noticed Araden until he was right in front of her.

"Would you like assistance?"

"Would you mind helping?"

Cyrene calmed her racing heart, his voice a mild shock. She typically didn't find herself so engaged that others could surprise her like he had. Occasionally, however, her concentration would take over and she would lose herself to her tasks. Clearly that had just happened, and she cursed her own ignorance.

"For an assassin you seem to be more astounded than I would have expected."

"Do you have fairy blood in you?"

It was Araden's turn to be surprised at her deft avoidance of his statement. He was silent for a moment, searching her eyes for a motive that was not present. His reply came softly, slowly, and his eyes lowered.

"Yes. I do."

"I met a fairy while I was out."

"Did you now?"

Cyrene nodded and threw her half finished hammock to the side. Leaning back on the side of the stall, she laughed quietly.

"His name was Naelys, he said. Do you recognize it?"

Araden closed his eyes, resting his chin on one hand.

"I don't recall specifically. Perhaps I might, given some time."

Cyrene's fingers were nearly numb. Even so, she picked the ropes back up and continued. Araden watched her for not more than a few minutes before he picked up on her pattern and followed suit. Her fingers wound fluidly through the ropes, forming knot after knot as the hammock continued to form.

"You learn quickly."

"It's part of my job. If I took three days to read a horse I wouldn't be working here."

"What's the fastest you've learned a horse in and out?"

"Two hours."

Bellosine snorted and Cyrene sighed.

"It was Bellosine, wasn't it?"

"It sure was."

Araden snickered and couldn't meet her eyes.

"You weren't even with him for more than twenty minutes."

"Actually I was cleaning up here the other day, just before you left for the latest assignment."

"Of course. I can't even keep my horse to myself."

Cyrene glanced up through the curtains of her hair to see Araden staring at her, startled and mildly shaken. Only when she started laughing did he seem to relax.

"Am I so terrifying?"

"Yes, actually. Your reputation does not exist for naught."

"Fair enough."

The silence stretched between them as the hammock took shape. Araden looked up at her every so often, curious as to how she worked so quickly. There was little to say and even less to hear; neither of them wanted to speak or listen. Bellosine's soft whinny, however, offered reason to.

"So the Prince is coming in after all. I didn't think that was his purpose."

"I should go."

Araden hurriedly brushed off the seat of his pants and was gone. Gazing at the spot where he had been sitting, Cyrene laughed sharply and finished her last knot.

"Good evening, Prince."

"I see. Your senses are sharp."

"It took you all this time to realize it?"

"A mere observation in the moment. No need to get angry."

Tossing the hammock into the loft, Cyrene rested her arms over the walls of Bellosine's stall, eyeing the Prince warily.

"Why are you here?"

"To give you your destination. You leave tomorrow."

"I'll leave after the sun passes noon. No sooner."

"Fine."

Aedryn gritted his teeth and tried not to say anything. It would do him no good to argue with her now, and a few hours delay would make no substantial difference.

"You are to find and kill Magnus, a young man my age who lives in the northern woods of Askea. He has been organizing a resistance faction against my family, and only recently did my soldiers discover his whereabouts, a small coastal town named Peldire."

"You never bothered to ask your people? I'm sure they knew where he was hiding."

"The people don't know anything." Aedryn scoffed.

"I knew."

He blinked hard and stared at her. She could be thrown in the dungeons for withholding information from him; did she know that as well? She was quite haughty for someone standing in the presence of a Prince, and he wondered where she drew such bold attitude from.

"Well, why didn't you say anything?"

"You didn't ask."

"And you thought nothing of it? You didn't think to tell me anything?"

Cyrene shrugged. If the Prince was so blatantly afraid of resistance groups perhaps he should have done a better job of keeping track of them. She was not his servant, nor was she his news outlet. She was a freelance assassin, and would remain so as much as she could.

"You're quite useless when not working," Aedryn jeered.

"You're quite useless in general."

Aedryn stood, seething in his shoes. It took all of his self control to refrain from telling her off, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. It aggravated him, the pedestal she stood on, and he lamented that he couldn't reach her no matter how hard he tried.

"Perhaps I should throw you in the dungeons after all."

"Try me, Prince. Go for it."

Her eyes flashed as she silently challenged him, a sickly sweet smile lifting her cheekbones. It was a thrill, pushing the Prince to his limits, and she found a sort of twisted enjoyment in his irritated scowl. In any case, she wasn't about to compromise for a sultry Prince, royal or not.

"Watch your step, assassin."

"I don't need to. I have reflexes. Besides, you need me more than I need you."

There were times when she checked her own ego as she checked his. Halflings couldn't afford to be sloppy, and she hated to admit she often was. All the same, she relished the feeling that came with the Prince's deep rosy blush. Cyrene enjoyed seeing him uncomfortable, and she knew he was more than well aware of the fact.

"Now, I'll need more supplies than last time if I'm to go so far north. I won't be back in less than a week, you know."

"Very well. Give me a list and I will have any that I can offer ready for tomorrow morning."

It would be a miracle if she received half of what she listed. Scribbling on a scrap of paper, she tossed it to him and collapsed lazily into the straw. Of the eight items listed, she expected Aedryn to spare her only three. If her prediction was correct, she would receive rope, fur blankets and food. That was all she was expecting.

"Sleep well, assassin. You have quite the trip on your hands here."

Rolling her eyes, Cyrene tugged her cloak from around her shoulders and draped it over herself instead. Aedryn wasn't likely to grant every request she gave. He was even less likely to consider giving her more time for each assignment. His sneer echoed in her ears and she gritted her teeth, growling softly.

"Bell, wake me up tomorrow?"

He nickered his assent and she yawned. Straw poked her bare skin, and even through her clothes it tickled her sides. Accustomed to the feeling, Cyrene quickly fell asleep curled up in her large bearskin. Her sleep was a dreamless one, silent and black like the night around her. The thoughts in her mind lay still, a clouded wrinkle in the fabric of her internal monologue.

A loud crash startled her awake, and Cyrene immediately was crouched defensively, Requiem clutched tightly in her right hand. She could smell sweat mingling with blood, and a faint undertone of husky breath. It was a man, as far as she could tell; men and women smelled different, and those in between bore a combination of both. She gave him the signal to observe, stepping carefully out of his stall.

Even in the minimal light of the obscured moon Cyrene could see the figure hurriedly picking up whatever had been dropped. It was a gentle figure, one that very clearly knew his way around the grounds. Cyrene crept closer on silent feet, cloak left behind and dagger raised. As she made her way to the figure a board creaked and she ducked into the shadows, watching the figure whirl around.

"Who's there?" The figure queried softly.

Cyrene smirked under her breath. She should have been asking that, and yet now she was the one under suspicion.

"Come out so I can see you."

It was only then that she recognized the terrified voice of the Prince. A low hiss built up in her throat. What was he doing here? He should have been asleep, not roaming the stables.

"I didn't think a prince would take to wandering the grounds alone so late after bedtime. Or does your father care not?" She purred.

"Cyrene. Of course."

"Had you forgotten that I sleep here?"

"Momentarily, I had."

Cyrene chuckled to herself. He disgusted her, and it was no surprise that he was aware. She hadn't realized, however, the extent to which he would placate her to save his own skin.

"So, tell me. What is a high and mighty prince like yourself doing here so late? You haven't done this before, have you?"

"You've been asleep every time I have. I also have never dropped a metal pail so loudly before."

Her eye twitched and she stopped in her tracks, half illuminated by the slowly appearing moon. How long had he been coming down to the stable without her knowledge? How had she not known?

"And what do you do here?"

There was a long pause before he answered, and his reply was quick, spoken as if tense and nervous.

"Couldn't sleep."

He wouldn't meet her gaze when she joined him outside the stable door, and when she stood in front of him he turned away.

"I wonder why?"

In the dim light his blush was not obvious but she saw it all the same. Her eyes narrowed and she quietly wondered what he was thinking. It was hard to read him, and her desire to know why he spent his nights in the stable made it no better.

"Why the stables then?"

Once again he answered after a long moment of silence, as if his answer took some thought to formulate.

"Because you're nearby, so if anyone does try to attack me then someone will be there who can take care of it. I'm not a fighter, so I would be quite useless."

Her blood nearly ran cold and it took all of her willpower not to clobber him right there. He only used her as his personal shield, clearly, and she was insulted beyond more than she had ever been.

"I'm just something for you to use so you can avoid your own death as many times as you see fit, then?"

"It's an honor to be of such use to the Prince, of all people. Be grateful for once."

As he scoffed at her, his indignant attitude back again, Cyrene sighed and trudged back into Bellosine's stall, heaving her cloak to the loft. There came a muffled cry from under the bearskin, and she frowned curiously.

"Now who's there?"

"Araden. I woke up when the Prince dropped the bucket."

Cyrene pulled herself into the loft and lifted her cloak from a bleary eyed Araden, who shook out his hair and sighed.

"Did he leave?"

"I think so."

She leaned down and sure enough Aedryn was gone, only two flattened footsteps in the grass where he had stood.

"You do know, correct?"

"Know what?"

"The Prince fancies you."

Cyrene's stomach twisted into knots and she stared at Araden.

"You can't be serious."

"I am. Dead serious."

Resting her chin in one hand, she was silent for some time, dwelling on Araden's revelation. A wave of disgust rolled through her, and she shook her head.

"That cannot be right."

"I used to come here often when my father, the previous stable manager, was alive still. At that time Aedryn was seventeen years old, and I was just about to reach my sixteenth birthday."

Araden smirked dryly. His eyes, half closed, burned with a simmering light reflected from the moonlight shining on the straw covered floor.

"He was madly in love with this young lady, the daughter of one of the king's lords, and she was not having his affections. The point is, I saw how he interacted with her. I saw how he acted around her."

"Araden, that was years ago. That much time will change a person."

He rolled his eyes and sighed again.

"I also spent that much time in the castle with him."

Shifting uncomfortably in the straw, she trained her eyes on the cloak, running it between her hands and trying not to scream out of frustration. It was bad enough that she had to work for the Prince just to survive. She didn't need him passionately in love with her either.

"And how did that end up for him?"

"She eventually fled to Erdania. None of us saw or heard from her again."

"Well, I might just have to do that."

"I don't think you have to turn to such drastic measures."

"And why not?"

"The Prince has, contrary to what you might believe, matured in recent years."

Cyrene scoffed without saying anything. Even if Aedryn had matured it didn't seem likely that it was enough. Her only concern was whether she ate or not, and Aedryn was not included in such concerns.

"Mature or not I do not need him hanging off me like a sick dog. I have problems as it is."

"I doubt he'll be so forward. He hardly even talked to the other girl."

"Either way I cannot find myself caring about him in any capacity. Have someone let him know that, won't you?"

"I will try."


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrene leaves for her newly assigned kill, but what becomes of the mission after a new party comes into play?

When Bellosine nudged her Cyrene raised her arm to slap at his nose before remembering her words from the night before.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

Araden was already making his way through the stable, and it looked like he had been for some time. He tossed her a thick blanket without missing a step and she was too surprised to catch it, instead letting it hit her and slide to the floor.

"Good morning. The Prince is waiting for you."

"Did he tell you anything?"

"He tells nothing. I'm shocked if he gives me any orders."

Cyrene snickered and picked the blanket up, rolling it tightly and tying it around the middle with a length of rope. Her saddlebag was leaning in the corner of the stall from her last mission, secret stores of stolen palace food stuffed in the bottom.

"Does he want me in the throne room?"

"Actually, I came down myself. I didn't want to risk anyone roaming palace quarters without supervision. Which, I assumed, you would be quite adept at."

"Very astute of you, Prince. Now, do you have supplies for me?"

"I do. Two fur blankets, a coil of rope and enough food for a week. With you it will last three days at best. In addition I am giving you a water skin that holds enough for three people with just one refill daily."

"Finally, something useful."

"I am somewhat insulted. Have I never given you anything of use in the past?"

"I mean outside of bare necessities."

"I am giving you two of my best fur blankets!"

"I asked for three. Besides, nobody told you to give me yours. That, I never specified."  
Aedryn had nothing to say, and she rolled her eyes gently.

"Shut your mouth and go attend to your business. I'll be gone by the time the hunting party comes back for your midday meal."

In a dramatic flourish of his robes the Prince was gone, and Araden poked his head out from behind the feed bin.

"Impressive."

"What?"

"I have never seen someone with such fluid and absolute command over the Prince's ego. This might to him some good after all."

"Well, at least my disagreeable personality is being put to use for something."

"I wouldn't go as far as disagreeable, but yes."

Cyrene let the silence smother the space between them. Birds softly twittered outside the stable and she absentmindedly ran her hands through Bellosine's mane. There wasn't much to be done until she was to leave, and if there were any more supplies to be had then she was better off waiting for them anyway. She doubted the Prince would be generous enough to give her anything more than he had.

"Here."

Araden tossed down a burlap satchel, and she caught it without realizing what it was.

"What is this?"

"Supplies. You're not the only one with a penchant for stealing."

"Araden, you can't do this anymore. I can't have you risking your skin to get me things."

"Honestly, what do you take me for? Up until the very moment I took this position I was a palace thief. I'm not doing anyone any favors. I'm simply dividing the spoils of my habits."

"I can't take this. Bring it back to the Prince and tell him you caught me stealing."

"I will not."

"I will not be bailed out by a simple palace thief, of all people."

"Simple? Do you know how complex my heists were?"

Araden raised an eyebrow and scrutinized her carefully.

"You could get yourself in a heap of trouble. I can't guarantee I'll be there to get you out."

"I don't need your help."  
A smug smile touched his lips and Cyrene began to laugh. She hadn't known many who could keep up with her wit, and Araden's was razor sharp. It was refreshing to see that someone else was so well versed in language, as few had ever understood her odd sense of humor.

"Well, as long as you're content doing what you do then I can't stop you."

"Likewise."

Cyrene sighed lightly and looked at Bellosine, who butted her with his nose. She grabbed a handful of oats, offering her hand to him. Bellosine wasted no time licking every grain from her hand before licking her cheek affectionately.

"Oh, that's nasty. Thanks."

The sun rose steadily, ticking away at the hours until her departure. A short hunt in the nearby woods proved rather fruitful, yielding her a large rabbit and two ducks. Tying the ducks to her saddlebag, Cyrene sat down to roast the rabbit.

"Araden, do you want fresh kill?"

"Is that rabbit I smell?"

He jumped down from the loft, broom in his hands. As his eyes landed on the rabbit, sitting over the fire, his face lit up.

"I haven't had freshly roasted rabbit in years."

"Well, join me then."

Araden skidded to a stop next to her, a giddy smile brightening his eyes. A sort of young amazement seemed to dance around him, bringing a secret smile to her own face.

"It should be done in a few minutes."

"The smell is wonderful."

Sizzling and steaming, the rabbit began to brown, blood and fat dripping into the fire. Cyrene watched carefully, waiting for the flesh to cook thoroughly. It didn't take long for her to cut the small animal apart, wrapping pieces in leaves and tying them with string. Handing one such packet to Araden, she took another and began to eat. A soft sigh escaped her lips; she had been very lucky in obtaining this rabbit.

"This was a good find indeed."

Araden could only nod his assent, a mouthful of rabbit hindering his speech. Chewing thoughtfully, he swallowed and grinned.

"That is one fine meal."

Looking up at the sky, Cyrene found she was quite anxious to leave. She had said she would be gone before the hunt returned for the Prince's midday meal, so who was to say she would be wrong in leaving now? There was no sense in wasting any time, she reasoned.

"I suppose I had better get on. It's a long way up north."

Araden's grin melted and he nodded slowly.

"I suppose you do."

"What? You're so desperate to keep me around?"

"No, it's just when you're not here then the Prince finds more reason to scold me."

Cyrene snickered and raised a hand in farewell.

"Good luck then, boy."

Nudging Bellosine, she was off. Bellosine's hooves thundered on the dusty path, raising clouds of dirt behind them, and Cyrene leaned forward over his neck. The sun, a bright yellow, shone down on the empty landscape in front of them. Cyrene knew she was in for a longer journey than she was used to, and she paced Bellosine accordingly.

"How do you want to take this, Bell?"

Bellosine's whinny was a clear answer.

"Are you sure?"

When he snorted indignantly, Cyrene laughed and shrugged.

"Alright, then."

With a flick of her wrist, she spurred him on ahead. Bellosine tossed his mane and sped into a gallop worthy of his Clouded Furiant lineage, covering distance at twice the speed of a normal Furiant and four times that of a horse. It was impressive to see him cover distance right under her, and Cyrene couldn't help but relish the thrill that came with such speed.

"That's it, Bell."

Back at the palace, the Prince sat slumped on the bed in his chambers. Blankets bunched in his hands, he berated himself again and again. It was irrational, chasing after such an independent and free spirited being, but he couldn't stop thinking about her.

"Why that one?" He clenched one fist.

"You know you can't avoid it. And I'm sure you also know exactly what she feels for you."

"Araden, you should not be here."

"And you should not be falling madly in love with a Halfling. There are many things we should not do, yet often we find that those are the very things we do."

Aedryn leaned back against the wall and sighed dejectedly, gazing at Araden through half lidded eyes. His hand languidly traced shapes in the air, a distracted fidget that even he himself didn't notice. Araden raised one eyebrow and leaned on the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why are you here? Don't you have work to be doing?"

"Because you need me, whether you want to or not."

"I don't need anyone, least of all you."

"Who was it that helped you with Adelaine? If I remember correctly, I did."

"That was one time, boy. Know your place in this palace."

"Alright, I'm leaving then."

As Araden turned on his heel to return to the stables, Aedryn panicked and called his name again. He turned back to gaze at Aedryn, amused yet annoyed.

"Yes, I thought so."

"No, that's not it. I just was going to tell you to make sure you sweep everything. Except her stall."

"Of course."

Once more Araden began to walk away, smirking quietly to himself. It was so obvious to him, the Prince's flustered uncertainty, and it was a pity Cyrene felt the way she did. Araden nearly pitied him, thinking about himself and what he would do in that situation. Perhaps he would just deal with it when such a situation came to him. The Prince, however, clearly did not know how to handle Cyrene's fiery temper, and her bitter attitude towards him even less so.

Araden silently swept up the stables, wishing the Prince had assigned him a more lively position. Cyrene and Bellosine were staying in the second stable building, which was empty otherwise, and his job was quite fruitless most days. It wasn't often that the Prince needed a new horse to be trained, which was his main duty at the palace, and Aedryn already had someone tending to the main stable. So he had been stuck with the empty stalled stable that nobody used anymore. Only until Cyrene bothered noticing him had anything of interest happened.

"I don't need you. Oh, please. Yes you do, Prince. Yes you do."

Cyrene laced her fingers in Bellosine's mane, her head drooping slightly. The two of them had done this many times. On long journeys, after Bellosine was well rested enough, Cyrene would fall asleep on his back and rely on him to shift himself, keeping her upright. It worked well, giving them time to make quick work of the distance while allowing Cyrene to rest. Bellosine was an adept caretaker when he needed to be, Cyrene had discovered.

"Well, I'm awake now."

Bellosine nickered in amusement and Cyrene sighed with mild exhaustion. A bright moon smiled down on them through the bare branches, painting Bellosine with a serene glow. Cyrene's dark hair, hanging loose and tangled over her shoulders, stuck to her face and neck, and she brushed it aside absentmindedly. Perhaps later she could brush it out, but now was not the time for such trivial matters.

"Nobody said we couldn't eat in the middle of the night. Shall we make a short stop?"

Bellosine complied and kicked down a dead tree for space.

"Stunning performance."

He stared her dead in the eye and she laughed softly, pressing a quick kiss to his nose.

"You know I love it."

Reaching up to a branch in a sturdy oak tree, Cyrene scanned the underbrush, looking for small nocturnal animals to hunt. It would be a miracle if she caught another rabbit, especially one as fine as the one she had shared with Araden. Pieces of it wrapped in leaves sat in her bag for emergency, in case she was unable to hunt, but she had time now. Her eyes adjusted to the changing light of the moon and the constant dark of the night, taking in hidden hollows in fallen logs and openings under rocks. At last, she spotted a small deer, picking its way carefully through the trees. She would have to save the leftovers from this hunt as well.

Weighing a knife in her hand, Cyrene raised her arm and paused. The deer passed nearly right below her, its nose twitching suspiciously, and she threw the knife. A small thud told her she had been successful; rustling leaves told her it hadn't been complete. Apologizing under her breath, she leapt down from the tree and swiftly slit the deer's throat, hoping its death was merciful aside from her mistake. A grin ghosted across her lips and she brushed the stray hair from her eyes.

"I have food for the next week now, don't I?"

Dragging the deer over to Bellosine, she sat down with a sigh and began to skin the animal, setting the skins aside for later use. Her hands deftly cut apart the meat, separating it into small enough pieces to wrap in leaves once more. With the deer, the two ducks, and the rabbit, she would have enough food for the entire trip, if she was careful. Bellosine stepped around the underbrush to sniff delicately at the corpse, inspecting it with mild disinterest.

"You don't eat rabbit, Bell. You only eat oats and insects."

He whinnied quietly, flicking his ears back and forth in quiet sentry. It was too risky to light a fire in the middle of the woods, unless she wanted to burn down the rest of the forest as well. She pulled two wrapped pieces of rabbit from her saddlebag and ate quickly.

"Alright. We should be off."

Cyrene pulled herself onto Bellosine's back and ruffled his mane right between his ears.

"Are you ready? Do you want more time to rest up?"

His only response was to lay one ear back and slide into a comfortable trot. She closed her eyes, her body automatically balancing, and let herself doze lightly. It would be quite a while until the two of them could take a longer rest stop again.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our beloved protagonist arrives at her destination and settles in, marveling at the changes and weaseling her way into helping the townspeople rebuild after a storm.

Cyrene's shoulders ached and her back was sore. Two days of nearly continuous riding was taking its toll on her, and though Bellosine did his best it was a trying time for both of them. She was reluctant to stop and rest for too long, however; Halflings had a hard enough time garnering trust as it was, and her own reputation as the Prince's personal hired assassin didn't help her much.

"Bell, we may have to find a local inn overnight after all."

He didn't answer, only laying one ear flat against his head. His hooves clicked on the cobblestones, and Cyrene sighed softly. Her shoulders complained more the farther they went and a bruise on her upper arm was starting to turn purple.

"Don't hate me if I die out here, alright?"

Bellosine snorted and flicked his tail back and forth. As far as Cyrene could tell, they were miles from any town and still had more than a quarter of the distance to cover. Her eyes scanned the moors carefully, looking for any sign of changing terrain. If they were on their right path, it was about time they reached the southern areas of Askea. Askea was quite a large area, encompassing nearly half of the continent of Flyrixer, one of the nine that covered the surface of Detorine. Suddenly, she squinted and frowned. She recognized the tree line.

"We're farther along than I thought we were."

She let out a quick sigh and relaxed, somewhat surprised by their progress.

"We should hit snow soon. Be ready."

Cyrene untied one of the blankets and tucked it around Bellosine's neck, laying it over her knees. Her hands laced through his mane, gently untangling knots and combing through individual strands. Few Flyrians could withstand Askean temperatures, but those that could were quite willing to offer shelter to travelers. Cyrene was fairly well known in one village for making a stop there whenever she passed through. She could only hope that the village still stood.

"Alright. Bear slightly east for now, until we reach that village."

The afternoon sun, glowing a deceptively warm yellow, shone brilliantly above them, yet no heat reached the ground. She took the blanket and loosely wrapped it instead around her shoulders. There was no use in being underprepared, and certainly not in Askea.

"Let me know when."

Bellosine nickered softly and eased into a trot, letting his pace settle. They were sure to reach the outer edges of Askea soon, where they would stop in the town she usually visited, and after that it was a simple four hours straight northwest to the village Aedryn had told her about. It didn't seem like much, just an average town with people living their lives, but Cyrene suspected there was something more to this than a simple assassination. The prince had been on edge, nervous, and she was going to take this assignment carefully indeed.

"It's not like I trust him or anything. Just that if a prince is worried to the point that it shows then maybe there's something to this town."

As if on cue, Bellosine stopped and flicked his ears back and forth, alarm and the beginnings of panic in the whites of his eyes. Cyrene leaned low over his neck and listened, streatching her senses to their limits. There. Flicking her arm to the right, she let a knife thud into the tree above where she heard the disturbance.

"Show yourself before my knife does."

A slender hand plucked her knife from where it was embedded in the bark and twirled it a couple times. The face that it belonged to showed itself soon enough, snickering quietly.

"It wouldn't do you good to go threatening me, sister. I'm well known around these parts."

"And I'm well known around all of Flyrixer, if not the entirety of Detorine. Are you sure you want to threaten me with my own knife?"

"I see. Well, I haven't heard of you, so you must not be that well known."

Cyrene rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"Keep the knife, little boy. A souvenir."

"I don't want your bloody knife. And I'm no boy. I have a name, and you'd do best to fear it."

"Oh? And what is this fearful name of yours?"

The slim creature in front of her sneered, a condemnation of her mocking chuckle. He came right up to Bellosine's right side, ignoring the Clouded Furiant's glare, and pointed the knife at Cyrene's face.

"The name's Filveral, sister. And you had better remember it."

"Remember what? Sorry, I've forgotten already."

Delicately sliding her knife out of his hand, she tapped his head lightly with the flat of the blade and smiled derisively.

"Now run along and play before you get hurt."

Clicking her tongue to Bellosine, Cyrene tucked the knife back into her cloak and turned back in the direction they were headed.

"I'll have your head by the end of the night. I have weapons, you know!"

She felt the rock hit her square in the back, and before it hit the ground she was off Bellosine and crouched in front of Filveral, rapier out and ready.

"You have weapons, boy? Then fight me, since you seem so determined to."

The bearskin cloak billowed slightly around her, too heavy to flutter. Her eyes flashed, the bright blue of her irises piercing and cold.

"Filveral! Are you threatening travelers again?"

"Oh, no."

Filveral suddenly dashed back into the treeline where he had been, leaving Cyrene to straighten up and look to the voice. A young woman walked out of the woods, carrying a large basket under her arm and looking around her with worry in her eyes. When she saw Cyrene, still holding the rapier, she stepped back, shock dropping her jaw and her basket.

"Who are you and what have you done to Filveral?"

"Cyrene, and I've done nothing outlandish to the boy, considering he provoked me first."

"I suspected as much. Please don't hurt me."

At that, she looked down and slid the rapier back into its scabbard, her hair falling in her face.

"My apologies. I would never."

"I'm sorry about Filveral. He wandered into the village one night, alone and scared. He hasn't taken very well to it."

A sudden recognition lit up in the woman's eyes and she eyed Cyrene warily.

"You're the assassin. You're Smokescar!"

"How would you figure that?"

The woman blinked for a moment and shook her head gently.

"Well, surely the scar running down your neck serves a purpose, does it not?"

Cyrene's fingers automatically traced the thin line of raised skin from the underside of her chin across her neck to her left collarbone. It was a fairly easily seen scar, and she never bothered to hide it. She hadn't figured that it would make her identity so obvious.

"I don't suppose I'm so secretive after all, then."

"Oh, no, it's not that. I also come from Karnien. Your usual stop along the way up north?"

The woman smiled hesitantly and Cyrene frowned thoughtfully.

"I'm inclined to trust you on that. Should I find that you and the townspeople have lied however, I think the rest is simple enough to guess."

Briefly, fear and surprise shot through the woman's eyes and she nodded quickly.

"I know," she finally breathed. "I know what you can do. I saw that fight in my tavern two years ago."

It was Cyrene's turn to be surprised now, recalling the brawl that had broken out that day. She hadn't been back since the fight, and even now the young woman standing in front of her was vastly different from the one she had known two years ago.

"If I remember correctly, you banished one of your long time patrons because he tried to flirt with me and didn't expect my reaction."

"That is correct."

"It is nice to see you again, Halcie."

Cyrene's smile was genuine this time, a warm gesture that somehow felt right, despite her usual discomfort showing true emotion. Halcie had proved to be someone she could trust, and she was starting to see familiar features in her grown face.

"You've grown magnificently."

"So have you, Cyrene. It took me a bit to recognize you, you've changed so much. You've got to be nearly twenty by now, haven't you?"

"Nineteen, though I find myself caring less and less each year."

Halcie paused and laughed lightly.

"Well, we should be getting to town. I'm on my way back right now anyway, so feel free to join me."

Bellosine automatically followed the woman into the woods, picking through the underbrush and stepping carefully over fallen logs. He snorted softly, an annoyed grumble and Cyrene rolled her eyes.

"You've had worse. Is it so bad?"

The subtle flick in his ears told her he was only joking, and she smirked softly. He was a drama queen, sometimes.

"Halcie, what happened to the road that went to Karnien?"

"A storm knocked down most of the forest in that area and the road is completely blocked."

Karnien wasn't a very small village, though it wasn't very large by any means, but it was a village that could survive on its own quite well. Cyrene silently wondered if any neighboring towns had been affected by such a storm. The trees slowly began to thin, and she slowly started to see the aftermath of the storm. Branches and broken trees lay everywhere, leaves scattered in between. Small clearings of storm flattened brush let the sun shine down, creating pockets of odd warmth.

"How has Karnien held up?"

"It hasn't been too rough for us. Jyprine to the north has it much worse."

"Is Nerys alright?"

"He's fine. The tavern has a couple holes in the roof but miraculously we're doing very well indeed, at least where repairs are concerned."

"Do you have any open rooms? If so, is labor sufficient payment?"

"Oh, please. You've poured so much revenue into our tavern solely through your time at the bar. We don't need you to pay for your room."

"Halcie, you know how I am."

"Yes, and I know how Nerys and I are. Your will against ours, dear."

Halcie giggled and turned back to look at Cyrene. Her eyes, a sparkling green, seemed to dance in the light, and Cyrene shook her head.

"You're stubborn, as always. That won't stop me from helping, and you know it."

"Alright, but your room is free."

"I suppose I can't stop you from doing that either."

When they finally emerged from the forest, her gaze immediately snapped to the iron gate, bent and warped out of shape. A large tree had crushed it to the ground. Cyrene traced the path of the gate into the town, superficially assessing the damage.

"Some storm indeed. Let's go see if we can help them with anything, Bell."

Bellosine picked his way around the fallen gate and into Karnien. It seemed the damage had been surprisingly minimal, as many of the buildings looked to be in impressive condition. The only building she could see that was any worse off was the town hall, which was only used for certain occasions anyway. Up ahead, Halcie was announcing her arrival, to the delight of some of the older children. Cyrene smiled briefly before spurring Bellosine on into the town. A single jump took them right over the gate, and he skidded to a halt by Halcie, allowing Cyrene to catch up and take a spot at his shoulder.

"Cyrene!"

Karnien was a village inhabited by Mountain Valkyries and humans, an alliance forged in desperation. Eventually the two groups had grown accustomed to living with each other. The boy who had called her name was a Valkyrie, the telltale white triangle beginning to show under his left eye. After the triangle, the crest would appear on his arm, darkened swirling lines forming a hawk. Cyrene glanced at her own arm, where a falcon stared up at her.

"Now, I'll only be here until tomorrow so we should get started."

"Started? On what?"

A tall man with broad shoulders and a thick mop of sandy hair strode toward her on long legs, a slightly incredulous grin plastered over his face.

"Well, I'm not here for fun. I might as well make myself useful before I move on."

"Where's the Prince boy sending you this time?"

"Peldire. On the northwest coast."

At the mention of the name, Nerys' eyes darkened and he scowled.

"That area's been violent lately. There's been talk of riots and uprisings."

"I've dealt with worse."

It was clear Nerys heard the steely edge in her voice. He sighed quickly and met her gaze.

"I don't doubt it, but be careful all the same. Just because I don't know your past doesn't mean I don't know how to worry."

"Is it strange?"

"What?"

"Is it strange being so friendly with someone who's killed so many people?"

He brushed a hand through his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes.

"I judge a person by their character. Not by their job."

Cyrene pursed her lips and nodded.

"Fair enough. Now, I need some way to spend my time here. Which building needs the most help?"

"Absolutely not."

His grin was back, and Cyrene straightened, staring him down. Both of them were stubborn, fierce minded and very intent on having their way. It was an odd friendship, one forged through mutual dislike of the royal family.

"Guests don't do work around here."

"You could hardly consider me a guest anymore."

"Do you live here?"

"I'm saving up to buy a house. Perhaps even your tavern."

Cyrene let a smile lift her cheekbones, winking subtly when Nerys couldn't answer. She briefly basked in the triumph before shaking the hair out of her eyes.

"Now, tell me what you need help with."

"What's all the commotion about? You children are supposed to be in school right now!"


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karnien proves to be just as lively despite the damage. The Karnese, however, are hesitant to defend themselves against verbal abuse.

An elderly woman, a Valkyrie as well, came laboriously walking down the path, leaning on a wooden staff taller than her hunched figure was.

"Elba, it's not a school day. Besides, look who's here to visit."

"What do you know about school, Halcie? You haven't been in quite a few years."

"Neither have you, Elba."

Suddenly the old woman's gaze snapped to Cyrene and she inhaled softly.

"Cyrene, child. Welcome back."

Cyrene simply dipped her head, a slight smile on her lips. Elba's fierce tongue still struck the slightest fear in her despite her Halfling heritage; the woman knew how to bite with her words. It was a different fear, however, one that stemmed from respect rather than danger.

"Alright. If you don't give me something to do I might as well go and find it myself then."

"Wait! That won't be necessary." Halcie laughed, tugging her toward the tavern. "I have something for you."

Once inside, she immediately felt at home. The faint smell of alcohol didn't bother her. She was quite tolerant of the stuff, and often could outdrink some of the other men there. Besides, the alcohol was drowned out by the aroma of Nerys' cooking. His specialty, fried blue ragdoll rolls, poured off his fire on steaming platters, ferried to different tables by young men and women in dark blue dress.

"It's so nice being back."

"Good. You wanted something to do, correct?"

"Anything I can do to help."

"Bless your soul. The workers fixing the buildings all pile in here on their breaks. Could you help Jerinn bring them food and drink?"

Jerinn was the head waitress, the one who oversaw all of the action in the tavern. Her cheeks were flushed, and as she hissed a command at one young man Cyrene saw her turn away with a muffled scream.

"Jerinn! Cyrene is offering to help you."

"Are you serious? You're willing to do such a thing?"

Cyrene grinned.

"Challenge me."

Jerinn exhaled deeply and wiped the sweat from her hairline.

"What do you know about waiting tables?"

"Does four years of experience trying to save enough money for a dagger count?"

"Perfect. You'll do just fine."

Jerinn's rules were simple; stay out of the way of other waiters, be as polite as necessary, and avoid spilling anything. Cyrene knew enough that unspoken rules made up the bulk of any etiquette in taverns and bars, and she watched the others closely. In no time she had discovered that no single table was visited more than twice in ten minutes, and that each waiter visited no more than five tables before returning to the back room.

"Cyrene, you catch on quickly."

"It's in the job description."

Only Nerys and Halcie knew about Cyrene's affiliations with the Prince, and she was going to keep it that way. Nobody had to know who Smokescar really was, especially not if they were civilians. The two tavern owners had discovered the fact by accident.

"Some kind of job, then."

"Certainly."

Despite the heat, Cyrene still hadn't broken a sweat. There were some perks to being a highly trained assassin, including astounding endurance.

"Newcomer, cover this table for me?"

"I'm not that new."

She slid over and took care of the table anyway, unable to muster the effort to care. It was most likely just laziness, and if she was going to keep herself busy then she would take whatever she received..

"Cover this one too, for a moment?"

"And this one, after that."

Cyrene shot a glance at Jerinn, who was staring out over the tavern, fairly unamused. She met the waitress' eyes, and Jerinn returned her gaze with a small nod. They would take care of it later. With a soft sigh, Cyrene returned to her work, glad to be busy at all. Sitting still meant vulnerability, and that was the last thing she wanted.

"Cyrene, do you want a quick break?"

"Tell me when fifteen minutes has gone by. Maybe then."

Judging by how many of the other waiters hadn't come out of the back room, she knew she was carrying most of the work. Silently she wondered if it was just something they did to the newer workers, perhaps as a practical joke. More than that, she was curious if Jerinn approved or not. Jerinn's dark expression, however, confirmed that she in fact did not approve. Faintly Cyrene heard the head waitress ask Halcie if she really could last another fifteen minutes, and she grinned to herself.

"I guess I'm running the place now."

Her soft utterance did not go unnoticed. One of the women sitting at a table chuckled and slipped her ten kivtas. The bronze coins clattered in her pocket and Cyrene winked at the woman.

"What's your name, generous soul? I'll buy you a drink later."

"Altaira. And no, you won't. I'll be buying you a drink."

"So, Halflings do always know another Halfling after all," a lanky man next to her snickered.

"Trust me, we do. And you won't like it when we all come for you at once."

Cyrene threw her head back and laughed, moving on to the other tables and taking care of patrons there before Halcie called to her again.

"Cyrene, are you sure you don't want a break?"

"Listen, Halcie. If I take a break I can't get my revenge on the lazy bums who left me out here to do all of the work."

"You said nothing about petty revenge earlier." Cyrene could hear the laugh in her voice.

"I may have wanted to purely keep myself busy earlier but now I have people to spite. I can't pass that up."

Jerinn cackled and when Cyrene turned she was bent over at the waist, shoulders shaking with laughter. Her own smile slowly spread across her face, a triumphant expression of victory.

"See? Jerinn approves."

Even some of the tavern visitors were laughing quietly to themselves, shooting amused glances at Cyrene. She shrugged and continued rushing between tables. It seemed every time a group of builders left a new group came stumbling in, tired and hungry. If she were to be completely honest, it was the smell of sweat that irritated her, but that was passable. Nerys was still cooking furiously after all.

"Admittedly, there a lot of people."

"So you're taking a break?"

"No."

Cyrene jumped around the tavern, balancing precariously filled platters of Nerys' cooking and large mugs of tempest gin. There were few patrons left who were not working on rebuilding, and Cyrene could feel the sweat radiating off of those who were. It was surprising how warm they made the tavern, considering the atmosphere outside, and every gust of wind from the door opening was a welcome cooling.

"Cyrene, what kind of job gives you this much energy? I wish all of my waiters were so diligent."

"It's less the job and more my personality. I've taken a disliking to being bested at anything."

"Well, if anything, the day is almost over, so the crowds should start to ease up. Or, at least, go back to normal."

"Certainly. If you'd like me to stop, tell me. I won't guarantee I'll listen to you, but tell me anyway."

Halcie rolled her eyes again and muttered something to Jerinn, who only laughed and shook her head. Cyrene swore softly as one mug of gin nearly spilled from her hands, a few stray drops scattering on the floor. Quickly setting the five mugs down at their table, she slid back to Nerys and grabbed three heaping platters of ragdoll rolls and ferried one to each waiting table. The remaining tables would have to wait a little longer.

"Cyrene, I think you need a break."

"I think I need skinnier legs, if anything. I've nearly tripped far too many times."

"Bring me those legs, princess. I like them just how they are."

Cyrene answered without even turning to look at him, recognizing the telltale slur in his voice.

"You're drunk, old man. Leave me alone."

"Cyrene, that was not the person to mess with. Even for you."

Cyrene pointedly ignored Halcie and continued on her way. She felt the man's presence rise up behind her, a looming figure who stood taller than she by at least a head. Turning around on one heel, Cyrene raised an eyebrow. He had a face like a pig, his eyes too small for his cheeks and his nose scrunched up against itself. His mouth curved into an ugly sneer, white teeth beaming at her in malice and ire.

"Did you just call me an old man? I liked your legs. Maybe now I'll break them."

"Go on. I dare you to."

Pig Face looked as if he were going to steam himself from the inside out, blood rising to his cheeks quite quickly. She folded her arms and closed her eyes, drawing anxious whispers from the tavern crowd. Her guess was that everyone had let this man do whatever he wanted, and had placated him until he'd become more self centered than even Aedryn. It disgusted her.

"I thought you wanted to break them?"

Finally, he seemed to snap. His arms filled his sleeves, biceps flexing wildly. Growling in his throat, he leaned down to grab at her legs. Immediately, she leapt up onto his back and stepped lightly back down to the tavern floor. Gasps fluttered up from the other patrons. Clearly they had never seen anyone defy Pig Face.

"Oh. You missed."

She heard him turn around. In the midst of it all, she had laid a hand on the sheathed knife in her sleeve. She wouldn't even need to take it out of the scabbard. His footsteps were loud as he angrily charged her, and in one swift motion she slammed her knife backwards into his solar plexus. Pig Face crumpled to the floor, breath gone and mouth locked open in shock. Cyrene replaced her knife in her sleeve and snapped her gaze smartly to meet Halcie's.

"I don't fool around."

It was a silent tavern that she served, until finally one woman recovered use of her voice enough to ask one question.

"How did you do it?"

"Do what, sweets? Knock out Pig Face there?"

As she spat out the nickname, her knife pressed cold against the back of his neck.

"Don't move. Yes, I just called you a fat animal who lives in mud and eats leftover food scraps."

When he didn't move, she nodded and twirled the knife in one hand. Cyrene's progress delivering food and drink had slowed, one hand occupied with her knife as it was, and nobody was keen on saying much about it.

"No, how you managed to anger him and make it out, well, alive."

"Would you like me to teach you how to knock a man out?"

"Oh, I'm not that sort of person. There are other people for that, right?"

"Perhaps, but if you don't learn how to protect yourself then what will you do when those people are not there?"

Cyrene shrugged and handed a roll platter to another table.

"The next time I stay for an extended period I'll hold a class."

Hushed murmurs wove around the tavern, some aggressively denouncing her brashness and others praising her courage. Cyrene ignored it all, serenely visiting tables and delivering anything requested.

"That was amazing." One young man stared admiringly at her when she gave him his gin.

"It was nothing." Her expression hardly stirred.

"Well, it was amazing nothing."

She smiled tightly and moved on, slipping between tables of somber men and women who lowered their eyes in her presence.

"Oh, I'm not going to bite anyone. Not unless you get up in my face like he did," she finally said it, laughing to herself.

"It's not that, dear. It's just that of all of our visitors, you've been the only one to win a fight against a resident. Not only once, but twice in a row as well."

"Two years between, Halcie."

"Yes but still. We rarely see such audacity, if you'll forgive the rude word."

"In other words, none of you have ever thought to defend yourselves."

Jerinn shifted uncomfortably and nodded, turning her face away. She thought to herself carefully. Perhaps Aedryn wouldn't notice her extra day here if she stayed. Besides, she could always make an excuse. Wild bear attack, difficulty with the assassination, or whatever was necessary. It wasn't as if he would know.

"Well. My travels can wait for a day. Tomorrow we learn self defense and how to mind your own business."

Halcie tried to protest, knowing Cyrene had matters to attend to farther ahead, but she stopped the young tavern owner with a grin.

"I'm not a hired assassin, Halcie. I do what I please."

"Who can join?"

"Anyone who thinks they can last an entire day outside. Working."

"What if we can't do that?"

"Then stay for as much as you can or like and leave."

Cyrene mindlessly served the rest of the night away, welcoming the mundanity of the tasks and enjoying herself. It almost served as a reason to just stay and avoid Aedryn, at least for a few months. But she reminded herself that hiding from Aedryn was not possible forever and would probably endanger anyone she came across. Her hands were numb from carrying hot platters, though it wasn't the heat that bothered her, and the bottoms of her feet hurt.

"Do you want a break now?"

"Not really."

She wanted to exact petty revenge, if only to balance the assassinations she carried out so often. Cyrene wanted something innocent, a victory with no bloodshed or death. This would be  
perfect.

"How about now?"

"You just asked two minutes ago."

"It was actually ten."

Cyrene rolled her eyes and tossed Halcie a kivta.

"Be quiet for another thirty."


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrene is a spiteful, petty assassin; it gets a laugh and a drink for her. There's a reason she has survived so long, after all.

"You wish."

"Fine, mother." Cyrene rolled her eyes.

"I'm not that old!"

Jerinn giggled and winked at Cyrene. 

"Aunt?"

"No."

"Grandmother, then."

"That's even worse!" Halcie threw her hands up.

"Is it? I think it fits you."

Halcie sighed and slipped the coin in her pocket, eyeing her suspiciously. Cyrene's arms hadn't tired yet, but her wrists were getting sore. Hopefully she would be able to work at full speed for the remaining two hours that the tavern was open.

"Would you like a break now?"

"Has it already been thirty minutes?'

"Cyrene, dear, it's been nearly sixty."

"Well, you certainly do follow directions."

"There's only an hour until close. You've been serving continuously for nearly eight hours now."

"Eight? It couldn't have been that long."

From the corner of her eye Cyrene saw Jerinn raising her eyebrows in disbelief. She chuckled to herself, finally admitting under her breath that she was exhausted. It was just too fun to let people assume she was a kind of god. 

"You're right, I am exhausted, but I am also the most stubborn Halfling you will ever meet."

"She finally admits it."

"Like I said, I'm stubborn. So no, I'm not stopping." Cyrene smirked.

"You should."

"No thanks."

Many of the tavern guests had gone home for the night, midnight approaching as it was, and just a few drunk men and women remained. Cyrene rested her elbows on the bar counter at last, exhaling deeply.

"That was fun."

Jerinn and Halcie balked and she chuckled giddily.

"You are not doing anything anymore. You've done enough work for three days."

"Jerinn's right. Now, do you want something to eat?" Nerys piped up.

"Do you know how to cook dream martens?"

"I do. Haven't you heard from Halcie how wonderful they turn out?"

Cyrene's stomach growled and they all laughed. She hadn't had much food besides whatever sustenance she found while hunting in the woods by the royal palace, which offered little variety. There weren't many choices besides common animals, and even ragdolls were rare in those woods. 

"The royal grounds have a few ragdolls. That's it. I have only found one single marten and it was far too small to provide any satisfaction."

"That's so unfortunate. Why is that?"

"I'm assuming its because Prince boy didn't want to eat anything sub par. That would also explain why the hunting parties take so long to return."

Jerinn snorted and rolled her eyes. The prince was a character, and not many people had faith in him as a ruler.

"Tragic."

"In fact, I believe the highest quality food I have eaten there was his leftovers."

When Halcie raised an eyebrow suggestively with a wink, Cyrene resisted the urge to vomit and shook her head.That was the last reason, if at all, that she would have taken the food.

"Are you sure?" The tavern owner grinned.

"Absolutely. It's the other way around, actually."

At that, Halcie really raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat.

"Do tell."

"There is nothing to tell. Aedryn is falling all over me like I'm some pet of his. It's disgusting. He's incompetent and useless. I don't need his body on my hands."

"Don't kill him yet."

"Even if I don't I would hate to be the one responsible for him."

"Well, are you an escort? If not then you have no responsibility for him."

"You're correct, I am not an escort. Unfortunately he acts as if I were sometimes."

Cyrene's nose wrinkled in disgust until Nerys shoved toward her a plate of steamed dream marten braids, short sections of the meat twisted together and slow cooked in a broth. She breathed deeply in and sighed happily, glad that she finally was going to eat quality food. It had been some time, and as good as that rabbit had been this was so much better.

"I caught a deer on my own the other day. It was a woodland deer, and well fed as well."

"Impressive. We've relied on the town hunters to get us food, as of late."

"Oh. Wait here."

Cyrene ran to the small pasture where Bellosine was grazing quietly. Alongside the grassy field was a low roofed building that Karnien used as a stable. Her bags and blankets were in there, tucked against one wall. Pulling out five large leaf wrapped chunks of deer, she ran back to the tavern and slid them across the counter to Halcie.

"Enjoy."

"What is this?"

She gently untied one parcel and her eye widened, flicking to Nerys and back to Cyrene.

"What do you think it is?"

"No, no. We can't take this. Cyrene, we can't just take your hard earned food."

"I have too much anyway. Besides, the guests will go wild."

"I don't care. Take it back. There's no way."

"Halcie, you listen to me. You'll take it, or it will all rot because I didn't finish eating it."

Nerys watched his wife, amused by her desperate refusals. Finally he came over and laid a hand on her arm. 

"It may be best that we accept her offer. After all, like she said, it is likely it will go bad when she cannot finish."

Halcie seemed to wilt, nodding slowly. Any remaining guests were gone by now, leaving a calm quiet to settle over the tavern. Cyrene smiled brightly and chuckled. 

"Besides, I'm a hunter. I'm a predator. I won't have any problems out there."

"You might."

"I still have over half of the deer stored in my bags. I will be fine."

Finally she seemed to accept Cyrene's reasoning and left to put the meat into storage. Nerys smiled to himself and as she came back he slipped an arm around her waist. Jerinn quietly excused herself, and Cyrene took the hint, faking a yawn. 

"I had better borrow a room for the night. Would you happen to have one empty?"

"Yes, we do. Many of them are, actually, so feel free to choose any one you would like. And take your food."

She grabbed the plate with a grateful nod in his direction and closed the door behind her as she headed to the back of the tavern. The inn was connected by a short hallway, off of which the servers' room branched. There was, technically, a front entrance to the inn, but all of the tavern staff knew she was sure to stay if she visited, so there was no need for her to use the formal entrance. Or, at least so she thought.

"Why are you back here? The entrance is out front."

"I always come this way."

Surprised, Cyrene stared at the man in front of her. He couldn't have been any older than she was. His jaw curved innocently into a thick head of wild golden curls, and piercing hazel eyes inspected her with a wary suspicion. Dressed in staff attire, he stood as tall as she and as he folded his arms a hint of a haughty glare crept into his eyes.

"Then I suppose it's time this burglar problem is taken care of."

"Are you new to this job?"

"I would say a year and a half is hardly new anymore, wouldn't you?"

That explained many things. Cyrene nodded, thinking to herself. He wouldn't have known about her, but that wasn't her issue. The real issue was that nobody had told him about her.

"Well, that's still too new to know who I am. Now, I have a room to go to, so if you'll just let me by that would be wonderful."

"You'll answer my questions first. I won't be fired because some girl thinks she can snoop around the inn like nobody's business."

"I'll have you know, boy," she glowered, "that I am a personal family friend of the owners of this tavern and inn."

"I'll bet I'm older than you are. Besides, you can't fool me with that excuse. You're coming with me."

She shrugged and let him pull her along, smirking slightly at his surprise. He hadn't expected the amount of muscle in her arms, something many did not expect. Cyrene weighed her options, wondering if it was worth her time to throw him to the ground and just find herself a room. 

"Where do you think you're taking me?"

"To Nara, the innkeeper. Where else?"

Nara was Halcie's sister and the one who ran the inn. She knew Cyrene very well, just as the other two did, and Cyrene laughed quietly at the fact that this young man was about to take her to Nara as a threat.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Nara knows me very well, and she knows I come in from the tavern."

"Don't assume I'm stupid. I know that's a lie."

She sighed softly and followed him to the front entrance of the inn, where Nara was dozing lightly. All it took was one deliberately loud footstep from Cyrene to wake her, and Nara was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Why are you waking me, Forelis?"

"We have an unexpected visitor. She's tried to tell me you know her, and I thought it might be worthwhile to disprove such an outlandish statement."

Nara's expression mirrored Cyrene's perfectly, one of incredulous exhaustion. She rested her forehead on one hand, then raised her eyes to stare at Forelis.

"Are you stupid?"

"No. At least, I would hope not."

"What did I tell you when you started working here?"

"Many things. All of the rules of the inn, how to clean up after guests leave."

"I told you there was something you never should forget. What was it? You seem to have forgotten."

"I confess, I have forgotten."

Nara gestured to Cyrene and stood, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"This is the one person I told you never to consult me about. What did you do? You woke me up from one of the few times I was able to sleep to tell me that someone who I told you practically lives here is snooping."

Forelis said nothing. It was his turn to stare, incredulous. When he began to shake his head in denial, Nara raised a hand to the scar crossing Cyrene's neck.

"This is the special guest?"

"I should just relieve you of your position now."

"That won't be necessary." Forelis paled.

"Cyrene, feel free to find yourself a room to your liking."

With another suppressed sigh, Cyrene made her way through the hallways of the inn, hoping her favorite room was open. It was the room in the corner of the building, with windows overlooking the gentle Kraulyn Cliffs. They were hardly cliffs, just a short ledge rising a few hundred meters above the ground below. All the same, the view from the edge was something to look at for sure. She dropped the food lightly on the table in the corner and collapsed into the chair to eat.

"Nerys, you continue to surprise me."

It was a wonderfully cooked dish, steamed to perfection over the fire. Nerys was quite good at what he did, and this was no exception especially considering the skill it took to cook dream martens. Once out of their shells, dream martens looked like exceptionally small rabbits on two legs. The long ear-like appendages on their heads burned easily, while the rest of their bodies cooked much slower. It was a wonder anyone could cook them at all. It didn't take her long to finish eating, starved as she was, and   
Cyrene slumped over onto the bed and promptly fell asleep. 

The bed wasn't much, just a straw stuffed mattress with two blankets tucked over it, but she slept comfortably and deeply. She hardly ever slept deeply. Cyrene's slumber was left undisturbed until the morning, when soft sunlight touched upon her eyelids and roused her. Rolling off the bed, she rubbed one eye and rinsed off the plate to return to Nerys and Halcie. As she opened the door to her room she was greeted by a cheery Nara, who extended one hand.

"I can take that back for you."

"No, it's alright. I'm on my way there anyway."

"Alright, well let me know if you need anything."

The halls were empty, few awake at such an hour of the morning, but as she entered the final corridor Forelis passed by her, shooting her an icy glare. Cyrene said nothing, only snickering quietly in the hopes that he would challenge her. Fortunately, or less so, he only snarled in response, continuing on his own way.

"That's right, boy."

Halcie was already busy conversing with some guests when Cyrene entered, placing the plate on the bar counter next to Nerys.

"Oh, you didn't have to wash it, dear."

"Yes I did, Halcie."

The young woman smiled wryly and shook her head at the older woman she was talking to. Cyrene ruffled Halcie's hair, drawing a sigh from her, and made her way to the front entrance.

"I'll be going. I have a class to teach."

Standing in the center of the square, she was hard to miss. Cyrene was the only one in all of Karnien dressed in traveling attire, and besides the fact, she stood out anyway. Her mess of black hair hung dark over her eyes and tumbled over her shoulders, curling and twisting wildly. A knife hung loose in her hand, her rapier notably absent for once. She'd left it in the stable this time.

"Are you still teaching today?" A young boy hesitantly asked.

"I am. Are you learning today?"

"My mother said I could later, if I finished what I needed to do."

"Then I'll see you when you finish."

It started with a few young women who had been present for her confrontation with Pig Face, and soon expanded into a large group of all ages and races. Valkyries, humans, and the occasional Halfling all gathered in the center of town and made for quite a spectacle, which only added to the crowd. 

"Alright, listen up! I am one in a sea of many, despite my ability to command a crowd, and you must be quiet in order for this to be effective. Are you ready?"

Her class cheered loudly and she grinned. It was time to teach Karnien how to strike back.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a much needed lesson in common sense out of the way, Cyrene packs up to leave Karnien. Her departure, however, is interrupted by a new face, one that knows much more about her than she is comfortable with.

Scanning the people before her, she began to speak. Quietly at first, Cyrene began with herself.

"Many of you may wonder how I face such feared people with such little emotion. It all starts within yourself. I treat every situation as a puzzle. Fit all of the pieces together and it becomes a complete picture."

As she talked, her words began to come naturally, as if telling a story rather than teaching a village how to respond to threatening individuals.

"If you don't even believe that you can stand up to someone there are few who can convince you."

Perhaps she wouldn't need to demonstrate on anyone now. Perhaps it would be easier than she had expected. As she continued, it was clear that some of them were beginning to understand. Eyes lit up, and soft chatter floated around the crowd. She scanned the faces staring eagerly at her and nearly smiled.

"Now, how do you suppose you respond to, for example, someone provoking you in such an indecent manner as what happened last night?"

Silence fell over the town center and Cyrene nodded knowingly. She had expected as much.

"Alright, let's start simpler. Suppose we take the same situation. What is the immediate problem?"

"You've been spoken to in a manner that you don't enjoy."

"There you go. Now, how do you address it? There are many different ways to, and you have to figure out some way of dealing with things that works for yourself."

Cyrene smiled and let her shoulders relax. Things were going well. As her gaze fell over each person in from of her, one young man in particular immediately caught her eye. He seemed to stare right through her, and yet something about his stare unsettled her, as if he knew everything about her from that one glance. Shaking off the feeling, Cyrene resumed her lecture.

Araden sighed heavily, listless and bored. The past few days had been slow moving, and he wanted something to do. Without Cyrene to occupy his thoughts the prince was starting to hack at Araden's nerves, whether he knew it or not. Araden himself was struggling to find something to do. With her gone, the Eastern stables lay empty, and he had returned to his previous routine cleaning the western stables.

"Stable boy!"

"My name is Araden, bird brain. And I've quite passed stable boy, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't care. I need assistance and you're the only one who listens anymore."

"Perhaps I shouldn't. The palace staff think I'm lazy because you call me away from my duties so often."

"I don't care. I'll pay you extra or something."

"You don't pay me, either."

"Extra food then."

"I hunt my own." Araden sighed.

"Oh, fine. I'll find something for you somehow. Just help me!"

Just hours after Cyrene had left, Araden had prohibited the prince from entering the stables after he'd stood there, wailing to him about his problems. Two days later he had even had to prevent him from coming within the gates around the eastern pastures. Now Aedryn was standing at the point where the iron gates were closest to the stables, shouting across the fields to him. Araden walked out of the stables to see the prince leaning quite tiredly on the gate, holding himself up by the metal bars.

"What do you need?" He rested one elbow on a bale of hay, standing just out of Aedryn's reach.

"I need relief, that's what I need."

"Give me something concrete then. I can't relieve you unless I know what you need."

"I can't seem to stop thinking about her. It's distracting me."

"Focus then."

Araden turned to walk away and, as it had been the days before, Aedryn whined his name and reached for him through the gate. The young stable manager turned back and stared hard at Aedryn, skepticism obvious in his arched brow.

"If I recall, wasn't it you who said you didn't need me? Who said he didn't need anybody?"

"That was last time."

"That was yesterday. It was last time, correct, but last time was yesterday."

"I meant the other last time."

"You mean right after she left? Or did you mean the time you called me down the day after she left? Or the day after that? Or after that?"

Aedryn paused for a long moment, sullen and dismayed. His mouth opened and closed until finally he found words, though much too inadequate for everything he wanted to express.

"I didn't say that yesterday."

"Yes you did, liar. You keep telling me you need me and then immediately shutting me off. Make up your mind soon."

Aedryn sighed audibly and dramatically, groaning as he turned back to the castle muttering under his breath. It was hard to hear, but Araden thought he heard him say something about stupid stable boys who couldn't follow orders. Smirking to himself, he let the prince think whatever he wanted. It wasn't Araden's concern.

Cyrene finished speaking and nodded slowly. To her surprise, deafening shouts of triumph echoed in the square. Her entire day had been spent teaching the willing Karnese her strategies for defending herself. It had astounded them how simple her methods were, and how simple their situations were. The Karnese just hadn't ever thought to defy anyone that hadn't used violence against them.

"That was impressive."

"It was self-explanatory, really."

"Yes, perhaps for a Halfling who's used to such things. Civilians don't have such courage."

"You forget, I was a civilian before I was an assassin."

"But you still are descended from Halflings."

Conceding to Halcie, she tossed her hair from her eyes and walked to the pastures, where Bellosine stood with the three horses owned by Karnien townspeople. At the sound of her footsteps, his ears pricked up and he met her with long loping strides through the grass.

"Alright, Bell. It's time we headed out."

"Now? So soon?"

"Yes, sorry Jerinn. I know you need my help."

"No, it's not that. I mean, I appreciated the assistance and all but it's more than that."

"Well, at least you now have something to threaten your staff with."

Cyrene cackled softly and Jerinn grinned.

"I suppose you'll need something for the way in return."

"Did I forget something?" She frowned.

"Not exactly."

The tavern waitress winked and handed Cyrene a small vial of pale golden liquid. When Cyrene inspected it closely, she had a feeling she knew just what it was, but she had to be sure.

"Ragdoll grease?"

"The perfect knife and sword care ingredient."

Cyrene's entire face lit up with exuberance and delight. It had been two years since her last visit, and thus two years since she had gotten any ragdoll oil. She had run out only a couple of months ago, and even then she'd had rabbit and mouse skins to oil her weapons. Now, however, she had better quality materials to work with.

"Thank you so much! Did Halcie tell you about my expensive taste?"

"I figured it out easily enough, but yes."

Hopping over the fence, she ducked into the stable to retrieve her bags and found that someone had neatly packed up her things. Grabbing them with a smile, Cyrene left the low roofed building and pulled herself onto Bellosine's back.

"Tell Halcie she has my warmest regards, however cold those may be."

With a last laugh, she nudged Bellosine and he leapt cleanly over the gate and down the road. The steady clicking of his hooves against the tightly packed dirt soothed her, a rhythmic sound that reverberated through her entire body. She found herself calmer when on Bellosine's back, a feeling that did not quite translate when she was among other people.

"Hey, leaving so quickly?"

Cyrene turned to see the woman from the night before standing with a lopsided grin. She turned Bellosine around and sighed softly, nodding.

“I've places to be. I'm not on vacation, you know."

"Next time you drop by I owe you a drink then."

"It's a deal."

Cyrene raised a hand in farewell and spurred Bellosine on again.

"Wait!"

The voice was faint, far behind her, and as Cyrene turned back she saw the young man that had caught her eye running after her. She slowed Bellosine, cautious yet curious.

"Wait, please! I need to talk to you."

She slid to the ground, crouched by Bellosine's sturdy legs in case she needed the Furiant's   
assistance. One knife was already in her hand, her other hand reaching for another, and she could see panic welling in his eyes as he hurriedly spit out his queries.

"Are you, by any chance, a Twilight Halfling?"

"Perhaps, by some chance, I am."

"Then are you, by some chance, the Twilight Halfling named Cyrene?"

"Who gave you such information?"

"We have an informant at the castle."

Her blood ran cold and Cyrene straightened with her knife leveled at the young man's neck. He paled and stepped back once, raising both hands above his head. When she began walking slowly forward, he took matching steps back, shaking his head slightly.

"May I explain myself?"

"You have two minutes."

"Thank you."

"One and a half."

"Alright! Alright."

She lowered the knife to her side and narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to speak. He breathed for a few seconds before sweeping a hand over his brow and beginning.

"I'm part of a resistance group. Not against the royal family, only against Aedryn. He is not supposed to be on the throne, and a group of Thicket Valkyries is taking advantage of that. I'm the Twilight Halfling you were told to find and kill. Magnus Flarynx? Ring a bell? Anyway, the Thicket Guardians are trying to use him to take control of the rest of Detorine. They've planted a dark seed, a spirit of Hignir, in his mind already and it will only grow. Soon they will have full control of him. Araden has been helping us."

"Your time is up."

"Please don't kill me. I have no excuses other than the fact that I would rather not die so young."

Cyrene laughed caustically, sheathing her knife. Perhaps she could wait to kill this boy. He couldn't have been any older than she was, and she wanted to know more about Araden's involvement besides.

"So, what is this elusive group that's fighting the Thicket Guardians?"

"Would you like to meet the rest of the Greyglades?"

"Answer me a question first, and then we'll see."

"Anything."

"How is Araden involved?"

"He's our informant of course. But he slips us resources and information whenever he can. In fact, you may recognize someone when we get to the main branch."

"There are side branches?"

"Of course. The main branch is in Wolfpine, and the largest side branch is in Mistwatch. Right next to, in fact, Peldire, where you were supposed to find the whereabouts of the Greygladers, I believe?"

Outwardly composed, Cyrene's mind raced with questions and suspicions. How much of this story was the truth? She was inclined to remain wary, but with the amount of accurate information Magnus held it was hardly possible for her to discredit him immediately. She stared hard at him from the corner of her eye, trying to evaluate his trustworthiness.

"If you're wondering, no. I don't plan on letting the Prince know I'm alive. In fact, we haven't touched Peldire at all, and we're using that cover to plant false news of my death."

Perhaps there was more to this than she had expected. It certainly was a thorough operation, one that she couldn't help but admire, though not aloud. The Greyglades were well organized, a distinct proficiency in their methods that she found appealing. Aedryn certainly had no such proficiency or organization.

"So the leaked location was false."

"Yes."

"How many are you?"

"Around two hundred. Over fifty in Wolfpine, twenty five in Mistwatch, and the rest scattered all over Detorine."

"What are your plans for after you defeat the Guardians?"

"Restore the true prince, of course, and monitor the nation's progress from there."

"And who would that be?"

"Well, the true prince is rumored to be missing. Three of our branches are working on finding him, and have been for a year now."

"How much does the public know?"

"Surprisingly little. Unless you're talking about the few civilians that we trust to keep our secrets and help us with operations."

"You've coerced civilians?"

"Asked nicely, actually. No coercement necessary."

As they walked, Magnus sighed heavily. Cyrene raised one eyebrow and ran a hand through Bellosine's mane, stiff and cautious despite all that she had learned without giving in return. Suspicion had saved her many times and she wasn't risking her safety over a resistance group, no matter how successful the group.

"What progress have you made so far?"

"The Guardians have networks everywhere, far more extensive than ours. Recently a small party of ten Greys, including myself, went out to Karnien to see that it was empty of any Guardian influence. I stayed behind to be sure, just in case they were sloppy and showed themselves after the large group left. We've managed to obliterate dozens of their hideouts so far, both in towns and in the woods."

"Any word on the status of the prince?"

"I'm surprised you haven't noticed yourself."

"I unfortunately am away from the palace more than I am near it, and I find that I've developed a certain distaste for Aedryn's company and person."

"Well, Araden has given us detailed reports, if you want to see them when we arrive."

Cyrene nodded and Magnus exhaled in relief. She waited a moment, watching her footsteps pensively, before raising her gaze and asking the question.

"Wolfpine is fairly far from here. Did you walk the entire way?"

"No, actually. My horse is waiting for me in the trees."

Magnus whistled softly and immediately the hair stood up at the back of her neck. A Clouded Furiant's footsteps thundered against the ground; both Bellosine and Cyrene stared in the direction they were coming from. Neither blinked when the charcoal colored horse burst out from the woods, running to Magnus with a nicker.

"I see," she murmured.

"Considering you show no surprise I take it you know about Furiants."

"I ride a Clouded Furiant. I'd say know is an understatement."


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Cyrene meets the Greygladers. Wary and suspicious, she doesn't dare reveal anything about herself that they do not urgently need to know.

Magnus was the surprised one this time, pausing mid step to gaze inquisitively at her and the white stallion beside her. She didn't notice, lost in her own musings, and when he swung himself up onto the black mare she continued her thoughtful walk.

"Shall we go?"

"Why not?"

Cyrene lazily jumped onto Bellosine's back and lounged against his neck, secure in the knowledge that Magnus now knew how experienced she was.

"I'm not going to attack you. I know very well how adept you are at killing."

"Few have such sense. I've killed far too many innocent people who got in my way."

"Ruthless."

"Necessary."

"Fair enough."

Magnus seemed to take the hint, quieting and letting her think to herself in peace. She tried to weigh her decisions carefully, but there were some very tempting factors to consider. On one hand, Araden couldn't keep up his espionage efforts alone for so long. On the other hand, Cyrene realized she could be of much use away from the prince. Her thoughts spiraled wildly until she finally sighed and decided.

"Here's the deal. You likely know very well that I could kill your entire resistance in a matter of days. Under that trust, I'm going to help you. But I will stay at the castle until I can find an appropriate time to leave the prince's employment. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"In addition, if I find that you are not worthy of my time and trust then I will disconnect myself from any dealings."

"Understood."

She didn't bother commenting any further, but she could hear the triumphant smile in his voice. That much was clear to her. There was, however, one more thing she needed to ask.

"Just to be sure I know what I'm working with, how many of each faction exist within the Grays?"

"Funny you should ask. Every one of us is aligned with the Light."

"Every single one?"

"Every single one except for two Clockwork Halflings. And, if you're counting alliances, Araden's brothers."

"And you're sure the two Clockworks are trustworthy?"

"Absolutely."

"How?"

"They're my older brothers."

He looked back at her, a silent query in his eyes wondering if she had any objections. Cyrene shrugged, merely interested, and clicked her tongue. Bellosine sped on ahead, passing Magnus and thundering down the well worn road. Wolfpine was two towns over to the northwest, right on her way to Peldire, although she doubted she would be making that stop anymore. As she and her Furiant galloped along, Magnus pulled up alongside her effortlessly.

Having grown up alone with just her father until she was fifteen years old, she didn't quite understand what it was like to have a normal family, much less a busy one. She snuck a glance at Magnus, trying to imagine what it would be like to live with him, to be connected by blood and not spill any. Her mother was dead, and her older sister and brother had both died when she was only four years old.

"What is it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Having brothers and sisters."

"I suppose it's different for everyone, but I get along very well with my brothers, and we protect each other often. We used to play fight, and of course we always have our arguments, but it's an odd sort of friendship that's a little more than friends."

"I see."

About to ask her about her own family, Magnus picked up on the slight furrow in her brow and chose to say nothing. Cyrene shook her head, memories of her father's abusive nature resurfacing.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine."

Her tone was clipped, and he shut his mouth with a curt nod. Cyrene hadn't wanted to remember such things, yet she was glad she asked anyway. It provided her with some insight to his demeanor, and that was all she needed. All of a sudden, Bellosine's ears pricked up and she caught the scent of human blood and alcohol.

"Into the treeline," she hissed.

"What?"

"Just hide in the edge of the woods."

As he steered the black Furiant into the trees, she landed on the ground and gave Bellosine the same command. Soon enough a low murmur of voices reached her ears, drunkenly slurred words and loud laughter faintly audible. Cyrene laid a hand on her sword and waited silently in the middle of the road for the group, which she estimated to be around eight people. Her job afforded her plenty of patience, and it was a good thing too. The approaching party took its time arriving.

"Well, what do we have here?" The man in the front grinned, his voice slurring slightly as if he was trying to look sober.

"What do you think you have?"

"Well, we took care of the other three people that tried to get in our way. We'll take care of you too."

Cyrene suddenly frowned as she recognized the young man right behind the drunk. Her gaze fixed on him and he stared back, one eyebrow arching slightly.

"Let her pass."

"What did you say, boy?"

"Let her pass. I know her. She'll let us go if we do the same."

"Listen, boy. The Lost Raiders don't just let people go."

"She hasn't done anything, and you're drunk as a mule. Though, I don't suppose you would know if anyone had done anything to you if you were sober either."

"Are you challenging me, boy?"

"Yes. And use my name, father. You gave it to me for a reason."

Watching the exchange with little more than a slight smile, Cyrene waited. Clove, the man in front, swayed on his feet and the young man gently pushed him back to a straight position. The haggard group of six didn't look like much, though she knew the Lost Raiders had terrorized many towns in Askea.

"Silas, why don't you let your father do what he wants?"

"He'll kill you for sure."

Silas seemed confident, but she caught the quiver in his voice. The two of them both knew she could kill them all in a heartbeat if she wanted, and she knew he wasn't going to take that chance. Regardless of his father's drinking habits Silas respected him, and she needed to use that now.

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about what he might do to you when he finds out later that you persuaded him to let a potential kill go."

"I don't need your concern." Silas' lip curled into a sneer.

"Of course not. I'm just a small helpless girl who escaped you, the strong fierce men of the Lost Raiders. No cause for concern."

"That's not what I meant."

Shifting her weight to her back foot, she drew her sword and smirked, daring Clove to make a move.

"Father, we should move on."

Silas was getting nervous and she was enjoying every second of it. He had held a grudge against her for years after her father beat out his in an election for town mayor, and oftentimes had gotten violent with her. She hadn't been able to do anything; if her father heard that she'd gotten into a fight at school he would lash out against her, commiting unspeakable acts of violence that she still had scars from. Now she relished in Silas' discomfort, grinning maliciously.

"I see you still haven't changed at all."

"And I see you're still the same stubborn little girl you were back then."

"I am. And I still hate you."

"I'm surprised. Even I've moved on by now."

"Oh, I've moved on. But moving on never diminished my hatred for you. There's a difference, if you haven't caught on yet."

Silas muttered something under his breath and Clove cackled, slapping his son on the back.

"You go get her, son."

"I would rather not."

"Then let her kill you."

From the corner of her eye she saw Magnus wave her forward, already behind the Lost Raiders and moving along the road. She slid her rapier back into its scabbard and shrugged.

"I don't kill without a reason. None of you have given me any reason, so I will not be spilling blood here."

"That was not the plan, darling."

"Well, plans change, Clove. Don't they?"

"Not today, they don't."

Cyrene pulled out her rapier once more with an exasperated sigh. Leaning onto her back foot again, she waited, knowing eventually one of them would charge her. That's what the Lost Raiders did. They waited long enough for their victim to let down their guard, then one of them would attack, giving the others time to make the kill.

"Any moment now."

Her whisper was snatched away in the wind and not a second later the man on the back right dashed toward her with a dagger clutched clumsily in his palm. Swerving to the left, she leaned down and slashed the tendons in his ankles, bringing him to the ground. She shoved her rapier into its scabbard in the brief moment of shock following her first victim's fall, pulling out her two knives and slicing tendons in knees and ankles, whichever she could quickly reach.

"Like I said, I won't be killing today."

"Why have you left me untouched? The rest of them will never walk properly again. You should have just killed them."

"I hope you can be a better person than your father ever was. I said I wouldn't kill. I said nothing about being kind. I've lost far too many to be kind anymore."

For an indulgent finishing touch, she took out a small twig and snapped her wrist downward, releasing a cloud of smoke that hovered in the air over her handiwork. Sighing under her breath, Cyrene ran up the road to where Bellosine was waiting for her. Magnus said nothing, only grinning at her and spurring the black Furiant on. They weren't too far from Wolfpine, thankfully. The left fork in the crossroads coming up would take them right into town. She was worried, however, that the Lost Raiders had come from Wolfpine, which would mean three of their civilians had just died.

"Where do you think they came from?"

"I don't know. I thought you might know since you heard them before I did."

"Well, now I suppose I know exactly where they didn't come from."

"I'm guessing they didn't touch Wolfpine?"

"Correct."

They pulled into Wolfpine quietly and quickly, swallowed by the crowds and masses. Wolfpine was densely populated for its size, and it had expanded outward quite a few times in the past few years. Cyrene jumped to the ground, keeping a hand on Bellosine's shoulder just in case. It wouldn't be necessary, however, as the people separated around the four of them, allowing them a straight path to the large building on their left.

"In there."

"Isn't that the blacksmith?"

"Yes and no. Don't ask, and I'll explain when we get in."

Under his direction, she turned into a narrow ivy covered alleyway next to the blacksmith and walked down the length of it until they reached the end.

"Alright. There should be a door right here, under the ivy. There it is."

The door, cleverly, was a thick wall of false ivy, wide enough and tall enough for two Furiants to fit through at once. Ducking through the entrance, Cyrene crept forward, following Magnus until they hit a door. He tapped out a complex series of knocks on the wood, waiting for it to open, and waved her into the pasture within.

"Magnus, you're back!"

"I've brought someone. Please do not try to kill her, as she most certainly will return the favor."

Cyrene blinked as she exited the tunnel into a large field, nearly half the size of the one in Karnien. Judging by the length of the alleyway they had entered through, the field bordered the back of the blacksmith building directly. Five wary Halflings stood, eyes trained on her until they saw the long scar running the width of her neck. One young woman relaxed her bow, releasing the arrow and sliding it back into her quiver.

"Welcome, Smokescar, to the main home of the Greygladers."

"Magnus, how much money has Araden funneled you?"

"Enough for this."

"I figured as much. Now, Magnus, you have some serious explaining to do."

"Let's start with what you would like to know."

"What is this place?"

"The home of the Greygladers. Nightbramble Retreat, formally, but we just call it the Garden."

She swept her gaze around the large grassy field, taking in the thick wall of thorns climbing the walls right up the top, where the ivy began. Just inside the brambles was a bed of roses and glacier lilies in a wild assortment of colors.

"You said there were fifty people that lived here. How is there space for so many?"

"Not everything is in plain sight, assassin."

The young woman that had greeted her gestured subtly to the western wall, directly opposite of the blacksmith building wall. When Cyrene didn't move, Magnus sighed lightly and tapped out the same series of knocks he had used to enter the pasture. The door slid open and a head poked out.

"Magnus, I haven't got time - Magnus!"

"Now isn't the time to catch up. I've got a tour to give."

"A tour?"

"Yes, Kyro. Unless you want me to look like a fool, trying to give the Prince's assassin an idea of how to overthrow him?"

There was a long silence while Kyro took in the latest development in the situation. His eyes closed, a long breath trailing away from his lips, and he came out of the shadows in the doorway.

"Have you given her the traditional Grey welcome?"

"Well, no. We hadn't quite gotten to that yet."

"Magnus, come on! We've got to start then!"

Kyro grabbed her hand and yanked her through the gaping darkness he had emerged from, making a sharp right turn and descending a set of stone stairs with Cyrene in tow. She realized, rather belatedly, that the stairs were likely built right under the wall that surrounded the Garden.

"Magnus, are you following us?"

"I am, Kyro."

"Alright. Let's give Smokescar an introduction worthy of the Greys."


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrene is given an introduction to the Greyglader headquarters and how they operate. It seems they've trusted her far too quickly but that's not her problem anymore.

"Now, the first thing you need to know is that we here are a very secretive bunch. Magnus is the only one that knows everything, and each of us is specialized in something. This way, we're scattered into different branches within each branch. Understood?"

"Sure."

"For example, there are six people who are trained in communications, myself included. There are three Grey dignitaries. Magnus, who brought you here, is the chief dignitary, and the two immediately under him are Presta and Dolian."

"What is this welcome you were talking about?"

"It is, in short, a tour of and introduction to the heart of the Greyglader operations."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous? I mean, what if someone leaks all of this information?"

"Oh, we have a branch for that. In fact, here is the head of that branch now. Marsilla!"

The older woman, strong steps bringing her quickly to them, clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.

"Who's this?"

"Marsilla, meet Smokescar. The Twilight Halfling?"

She looked to Cyrene with a combination of wonder and friendly scrutiny, nodding to her for lack of a better gesture.

"Welcome to the Garden. I'm Marsilla, director of stealth."

"She's the one that ensures we are hidden and that nobody has revealed information that could jeopardize us. She also leads the raids that find anyone who has done so. The four under her  
are very well trained in combat and weaponry."

As they proceeded through the maze of rooms and hallways in the underground complex, Cyrene began to realize just how extensive the Greygladers were. They had resources, connections, whatever they needed. It was a wonder Aedryn didn't know about them. Then again, he had also forgotten that she slept in the stables, even after so many years.

"Up ahead on the left is Fliedan's lair. She is the head of the five person weapons specialist team. While the stealth branch knows how to use the weapons, Fliedan knows how to make them. In fact, this room is only storage. Her group uses the blacksmith up above."

One glance inside as a young man left told her all she needed. Rows upon rows of shelving units stood stacked full of swords, knives, bows and other weapons, finely hand crafted and sharpened to razor thin points. A soft breath escaped her lips and Cyrene stared at the door even as they continued on. Kyro chuckled.

"We can revisit later. Anyway, this room here is research. It's probably one of the largest branches of the Garden, right behind expansion, with twelve people under Pollux. The research branch finds and distributes information as necessary. They're the ones who usually let us know where the Guardian has footholds."

Finally, Kyro pushed open the doors to a massive ballroom. A set of stairs leading down to the floor of the hall gave the impression of a high ceiling, and Greys milled around below, jumping from conversation to conversation.

"This is where we come for gatherings, meetings, socializing, whatever occasion arises. Typically expansion will just partition off a piece of the hall and use that as their space, as it's the only space we have that can fit them."

"What does the expansion branch do?"

"Well, their first and most important job is to find ways that we can expand our space here underground. Their second job is forming branches in other towns. They're sort of a secondary diplomacy branch. Khula is very proud of her sixteen person team, you'll have to know."

Looking around at the organization and effort put into the resistance, she couldn't help but wonder why she ever went back to the palace. Cyrene wanted to just take time and explore the halls, wander on her own. A sense of urgent reserve, however, kept her from asking to do so. It seemed everything in this organization was planned and executed in a very orderly manner, and it felt improper to intrude.

"Now, what would you like to see more of?"

"I suppose that isn't too hard to guess." She laughed dreamily, thinking of the weapon room.

"I knew you enjoyed the looks of the content in that storage room."

"There's nothing I enjoy more than seeing a room entirely filled to the brim with high quality knives and daggers."

"Yes, of course."

Kyro grinned at her and followed her back to the weapons room, leaning in the door frame as she stopped and gaped. Directly in front of her, a ceiling high column of shelves held countless blades of varying widths, lengths and designs. A slim knife right at eye level caught her attention and she reached for it hesitantly before glancing back at Kyro. He grinned and nodded. Cyrene took the knife down from the shelf and turned it in her hand, breathless with amazement.

"This was handmade?"

"Indeed."

The blade was a glittering silver, thin and gracefully curved slightly to one side. The bronze hilt was delicately carved with flowers and vines, a large flat ruby embedded into one side. Visually tracing the lines in the hilt, Cyrene gently placed the knife back on the shelf. Immediately she saw another and picked it up, once again stunned by the quality. This one had a steel two edged blade, straight and flat with a dull shine to it. The hilt was simple, just a chestnut grip with a single flower etched into the surface.

"Are all of these handmade?"

"They are, yes."

"This is astounding."

"Fliedan takes great pride in her work."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"I'll let you in on a secret. Each of the Greygladers owns a Fliedan made weapon. Specially designed and crafted by her own hands."

"So that bow I was threatened with, did she make that as well?"

"She did."

Cyrene stared for a long time at the shelves of weapons, mesmerized by the brightly cleaned blades and leather wrapped hilts. Her eyes traveled up and down the rows, scanning all sorts of fancy things she had never known could be handmade so perfectly.

"Take one you like."

"What?"

She whirled around on her heel and a young woman with charcoal dust covering her neck and hands stood in the doorway, Kyro serenely smiling at her in the background. Cyrene squinted in the dimness of the room and realized with a late start that this young woman had to be Fliedan.

"Choose one to your liking. I have too many weapons and not enough space."

Fliedan laughed and gestured to the racks, as if to welcome her to make a choice. Cyrene closed her eyes and let her heart lead her. She always chose weapons this way. It created a connection between her and the blade, strengthening her wield and the blade in turn. Slowly she felt herself approach one shelf in particular and pick up a dagger. Opening her eyes, Cyrene examined the one she had chosen.

"Interesting choice."

The steel blade arched subtly in two places, a barely noticeable twist. The hilt was a lightweight wolf bone shaped to fit a hand, smoothed and shined crisply. A rather small emerald sat nestled in the cross of the hilt, winking at her in the light from the doorway. It matched what she wanted perfectly, even showing a twinge of the same personality of the person it represented.

"I see you've drawn yourself to Flickerbreak."

"Flickerbreak?"

"I name all of my projects. Feel free to rename them, I just do it out of habit."

"No, I like it. It fits."

She paused and met Fliedan's eyes briefly.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely! Now, let me see your other weapons."

Cyrene raised an eyebrow but handed her Requiem, Nightfall and Hearth. Each dagger was named specifically and particularly, and she softly muttered each name as she laid them in Fliedan's grime covered hands.

"I'll be back in ten minutes. Feel free to explore the shelves until then."

Cyrene took a deep breath and sighed happily, letting the smell of faded smoke and fresh ragdoll grease trickle into her breaths. She sighed quietly, calmed by the presence of greatness in the room. It was as if she could feel each weapon's spirit, calling to her and connecting with her. Looking down at Flickerbreak in her hands, it was hard for her to suppress the urge to slash at anything near her. The new dagger felt right, heavy in her hand yet a graceful wield. She felt a primal need to use it, to see how it would feel swinging through the air toward a neck or a stomach.

"I see you have a deep appreciation for weaponry."

"Perhaps the only thing that still holds my attention, yes."

"That's better than some."

"How so?"

"At the very least, you are not actively searching to control more than you already possess."

"I suppose, although that hardly compensates the fact that I kill for a living."

"You're a Halfling, are you not?"

"So?"

Kyro laughed dryly and shrugged. His eyes twinkled and she gazed blankly into the rows of weapons.

"Well, you're just doing what you're intended to, aren't you?"

"I am one of the few Twilight Halflings left that kills for pay. Not many of my kind are assassins anymore."

"There needs to be someone countering the work of the Clockwork Halflings, right?"

"I've killed many more than Clockworks."

"We've all got to survive somehow. You're doing it the way you know how."

She was silent for a few minutes, unsure of how to take Kyro's words. For her entire life, her only thought had been to survive, to make it to the next day, to please Aedryn enough that he would allow her to stay another night. Now that she was starting to build a stable life, the small pleasures were baffling her. Cyrene turned her knife over and over in one hand, the other absentmindedly tugging at a strand of hair.

"I'm back. Take a look."

Despite the filth covering her hands, Fliedan held three gleaming knives, shined spotless and cleaned better than Cyrene could have by hand.

"How in the world?"

"Oh, it was simple enough as soon as I found out which metals were in each blade."

"They've never been so clean. Or bright."

"My pleasure."

Fliedan giggled softly and shrugged. Cyrene, in a sudden rush of subdued emotion, stumbled forward and took her shoulders in a gentle embrace. She was surprised to find herself truly grateful. The Greygladers were treating her well, and it seems they genuinely respected her. Fear created a transparent respect that she saw right through, and she was tired of reassuring those around her that she did nto kill randomly.

"Now, tell me. What exactly is Magnus doing with you?"

"I have no idea. Do you know where I might find him so I myself can find that out?"

"Nobody really knows where he goes off to while he's back here. He kind of just disappears."

"Interesting."

Cyrene fiddled with Requiem before tucking her knives back in their sheaths. Requiem sat in her sleeve, Nightfall by her hip, and Hearth strapped above her ankle. Finally, she shrugged and stuck Flickerbreak on her other hip. It just felt right.

"Do you think it would be rude of me to try and find him?"

"I don't know. I think he enjoys your company. I've never seen him so free and happy, so perhaps it would be good if you did."

"I'm not one to report on the truth of your statement, but I find that I trust you. Don't lose that."

"I wouldn't dare."

Fliedan gave her a wild smile and held out her hand. After a moment, Cyrene shook the other woman's hand and headed off to try and find Magnus. Through all of the commotion in the complex, it was difficult to pick out his footsteps. She roamed halls and corridors in search of a set of steps that sounded like his, curious as to where he could have been hiding. It was finally near the room Marsilla had come from, that Cyrene picked up a hint of his scent. He had left the underground tunnels after all. She crept up the stairs, hesitantly pulling out Hearth just in case.

"Magnus?"

There was no answer, and Cyrene continued up the stairs. Pushing the hidden door open, she stepped into the empty field and crossed the grass to ivy covered door and disappeared into the alleyway. Little light bled into the space between the walls and Cyrene slipped into the town's streets unnoticed. All of a sudden Magnus' trail was strong, and the tips of her delicately pointed ears twitched. She arched an eyebrow and followed it through the streets, past the library and a tavern, right under the roof of a florist.

"Flowers?"

Without another thought, Cyrene pushed open the door and stepped inside. The bell hanging on the inside handle jingled gently, and she looked around briefly to get an idea of her surroundings. Cyrene stepped forward on quiet feet, trying to regain a sense of Magnus' path. After stepping carefully around a tall display of blue pilbas, she caught his scent again.

"Found you."

She made her way along his trail to the side of the store, walking past pepper roses and fellenwood blossoms until she reached a heavy wooden door. Just as she reached out to pull it open, a hand grabbed her wrist and threw it aside. She froze, prepared to pull out a knife.

"Young lady, none are welcome past this point."

"I'm sure Magnus will understand if I enter."

"Magnus? Who are you talking about?"

"Never mind. I know he's in here. I need to talk to him."

"Absolutely not."

She stared serenely at the man standing before her, a crossbow strapped to his back and muscles running languidly down his arms and chest. A disdainful sneer twisted his brow and his fingers twitched, seemingly desperate to wrap around her neck. Cyrene made no move, but the edge of her lip curled in disgust.

"I need to speak with the man in there. Let me through."

"You have no business trying to fool me into letting you into a heavily restricted room."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! If you enjoy this story enough, and you are willing, I have a tip jar set up in the form of a website called Ko-fi! Just copy and paste the link and leave a donation!  
> https://ko-fi.com/A7673H7L


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus and Cyrene continue discussing the future of the Greygladers, but something sinister is lurking underneath the surface.

Tired of his stalling, Cyrene gritted her teeth and reached once more for the door handle. As she stepped forward, a wall of shoulder and upper arm crashed into her and sent her flying into an empty iron rack with a loud clang. She pulled out Flickerbreak and Hearth, standing with a wince. There was nothing stopping him from destroying her right there, but for some reason he stopped and stood in front of her, lazily watching her movements.

"Are you sure you want to fight a Halfling, old man?"

"I'm not that old. Besides, Halflings are no fight."

Cyrene knew she shouldn't have fallen for his taunting, but his jibe at Halflings was too much. They were a proud race, and she thought herself even more proud than most. If he wanted to risk that kind of wrath, Magnus couldn't be angry at her. Pushing off her back foot, she dove in with Hearth and slashed at his underarm only to be pushed back by a strong hand. Clearly she still was reeling from her hit with the flower rack. Once more she was knocked back, this time against the bare wall, and as she slid to the floor the door opened.

"What is happening? Kellen, stand down!"

The large man backed off and Cyrene stood painfully, stretching out her limbs. A feline yawn passed over her mouth and she blinked at Magnus.

"I see you don't like being bothered."

"Just come in. We'll talk inside."

As she passed Kellen, she smirked and waved to him, a mocking sneer carved into her smile. Thankfully the door shut behind them before he could say anything, and Cyrene gazed upon a dark bare room. A sleeping pallet in the corner was hardly illuminated by the two glitterglow lamps on the edges of the writing desk in the corner. A large wooden chest sat next to the sleeping pallet. One single chair haunted the corner nearest the door.

"Does he always pretend not to know your name?"

"I figured you would ask. As it would happen, I run operations under a pseudonym, as you do, and this town only knows me as Frostbite."

"I don't suppose I just blew your cover?"

"Well, he already knew anyway."

Magnus shrugged with a soft laugh and gestured to the minimalistic room. As Cyrene perched lightly on the chair arm, he paced noiselessly back and forth.

"So. Did Marsilla send you? She often sends someone to find me, but you're the first to succeed."

"No, she did not send me. I came on my own. Halflings have keen senses. You of all people should have known that."

"I never figured someone would be able to catch my scent through that disguise."

He mused silently for a moment and Cyrene stood by the door, still holding her knives. Suddenly he shrugged and sat down in the chair by the desk.

"It's of no importance. I'm glad it was you. Now, what do you need?"

After a moment, she recovered enough from her surprise to answer him.

"I need to know exactly what you require of me."

"Well, it's hard to say. I need whatever you can give me. Realistically, I can't expect much."

"Theoretically, then. What do you need?"

"Another informant. Araden often can't send information on time because the prince has sent him off on some mundane task, or is watching him like a hawk. Someone more independent of the royal family yet still tied to it would be of great help."

"Before I help you, you must know I spend much of my time away from royal grounds, and even in times when I am there I am not within palace walls."

"Oh, that's entirely alright. Araden has all of the information. We just need a messenger."

Cyrene took her time thinking, running her finger along the flat of Flickerbreak's blade. At last, she made her decision, sliding her knives into their sheaths.

"Nice doing business with you."

Magnus cracked a smile and nodded quickly. His bright eyes twinkled, a soft shade of amber that seemed to drip with golden honey.

"Now, answer me a question."

"Anything." He raised an eyebrow

"What is this room?"

"I find that I plan better in solitude. I tend to stay awake long past anyone else. In turn, I also sleep long past anyone else. This room allows me to do so without disturbing anyone else."

"I see."

"Besides, I work late into nights, and this space is more convenient to do so."  
He stood and crossed the short distance to the door, looking back at her briefly.

"Shall we go?"

She followed him back into the florist, walking past Kellen without so much as a glance. Ignoring the huge man's growl, Cyrene sighed and walked up to the counter with a bouquet of kirelillies in hand.

"That will be three kivtas, please."

After dropping the coins on the counter, she turned back under Magnus' stare and opened the door to his room again. Cyrene rolled her eyes gently as she placed the flowers on his desk.

"What was that all about?"

"You need something to spice up that tiny room."

"Oh, let me pay you back, please."

"No you don't, assassin."

"Proud race?"

"You know we are."

The pair made their way through the streets of Wolfpine. Afternoon sun peeked softly between building corners, glancing off the mottled gray cobblestones and shining in midair. Cyrene began to walk back toward the blacksmith, but Magnus tugged on her wrist, as if he wasn't done with her yet.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"I didn't want to bother you any further."

"You don't bother me at all. In fact, I'm glad you have made an effort to try and get to know me."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She chuckled.

"You have the mark, don't you?"

"Mark? What mark?"

"Well, your family is supposed to be the bringer of such news, so I'll leave it to them."

She paused and stopped walking, a suddenly sober expression casting shadows across her face. The creases above her eyes revealed everything, and Magnus gazed cautiously back at her, confused yet interested.

"DId I touch a nerve?"

"My entire family is dead. It's alright, you didn't know."

He was quiet for a few minutes, only watching her expression change. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his cloak, a thinner lighter fabric than her own, until finally he couldn't meet her eyes anymore.

"I suppose there's nothing I should or could say."

"I suppose not. I've heard everything by now."

"We should head back to the Garden. They'll be expecting you and it's about time I connected more with those who follow me."

"Anything to keep me from ending up elbows deep in a dead body."

Magnus smirked and tugged the collar of his cloak up over the edge of his jaw, turning back to the street taking them back to the smith. His footsteps hardly made a sound, sliding gracefully over the cobblestones, and she wondered how much training he had. The work he did no doubt trained him enough, she figured. Running such a complicated resistance against the prince was no small task, even with a defunct boy like Aedryn on the throne.

"How did you even get the Greys started?"

"I didn't, actually. My sister did."

"Large family business, then."

"Well, she wasn't really my sister. She was a cousin. Anyway, she took care of everything until one day she never came back. I don't know if she's alive or dead."

"I suppose we've both had our share of losses."

"I took over slowly after that, tired of waiting for her to return. Now it's what you see today."

Cyrene pushed through the curtain of ivy and made her way back into the Garden's walls before descending the stairs into the heart of the underground complex. She passed Fliedan, who simply grinned at her and waved. Many of the Greys went on with their business, ignoring her, and Cyrene sighed with relief. Magnus, however, attracted a storm.

"Magnus! You're never here!"

"I know, but today I am."

The young woman fluttered around him nervously, a feverish blush coloring her cheeks. When he looked to her for help, Cyrene shook her head and let a smile touch her lips.

"Maiora, how many times have I told you? I cannot love you, and even if I could it would destroy any authority I have over the Greygladers."

"I know, but I can't seem to stay away from you. You're so kind and you always talk to me when I bother you."

"Yes, perhaps I should stop doing that."

"I enjoy talking to you." Her disappointed frown almost made Cyrene laugh, though she internalized it.

"I'm not power hungry. But the Greys trust me, and I said I would not make a move on anyone who lived within the Garden walls. If you cannot respect that then I suggest you find a solution."

Maiora looked even more distraught, and Cyrene tried not to imagine Aedryn acting the same way she was. It certainly was within his character to do so, and she snickered quietly to herself while she stood, waiting for Magnus. She tried not to giggle audibly, watching him struggle with Maiora's affections.

"Maiora, listen to me. I have told you many times that my responsibilities keep me far too occupied for this. Please respect that."

"Magnus," she began before he cut her off.

"I'm sorry. I must go."

FInally her grip on his arm loosened, and Cyrene hid a smile as they continued into the hall at the end of the corridor. Marsilla was already there, conversing with another woman in one corner. It seemed some of those previously there had left, as most of the room was empty, but a decent number remained, quietly talking or milling around.

"I see you're quite the riot here."

"I'd rather not be. I didn't think I was so attractive."

"Well, at least you're well liked, and operations seem to be running smoothly for now."

"Things are alright for now, I suppose."

"Of course. You know what you're doing."

"I don't, really, but I'm flattered you think I do."

"Magnus!"

"Marsilla!"

Cyrene hid her grin as Magnus sighed under his breath. It was clear he had wanted to stay a clandestine presence, but Marsilla had other plans. One by one, the others in the room looked up and waved to him, calling him down the stairs.

"Come on, enjoy it!" Cyrene nudged him toward them.

"I prefer to stay in the shadows, honestly."

"That's boring."

"I don't really have a choice besides."

"That's the spirit."

Marsilla waved them over with a grin and when Magnus rolled his eyes she rolled hers in return.

"Socialize a little! You never talk to anyone!"

Aedryn paced in his chambers, forty two minutes deep into one straight hour of doing so. The temptation to summon Araden again was strong, but he dared not. The boy had gone through enough in the past few days. Then again, the boy had also been the only one who had helped any with his situation. Ignoring all of his instincts, he sent a page to fetch Araden.

"Prince, your games are getting tiring. I have work to be doing."

"I'm alone in the castle, stable boy. I don't exactly have anyone to help me with my problems."

"Hirena?"

"She doesn't understand me."

"Gorlen."

"He doesn't care."

"Vulina."

"I hate her and she doesn't like me much more."

Araden swore under his breath and muttered something about incompetent princes being the only ones in line for the throne. Aedryn threw himself onto the bed, his matted hair falling around his head in dark brown spikes. His dramatic flair made no mark on the stable manager, who just leaned in the doorframe as usual and folded his arms.

"Alright. Then I suppose you're just going to complain while I pretend to care."

"So you don't actually care?"

Araden scoffed and Aedryn, desperate to maintain some control over his own problems, hurriedly laughed.

"I mean, of course you don't."

"And you had better remember it. Now, why am I here again?"

"I need something to get my mind off, you know. Any suggestions?"

"Forget about, you know."

"That's not helpful."

"I wasn't trying to be."

Araden repressed a dry laugh, instead just raising an eyebrow at the prince in a silent challenge.

"Please, stable boy. I'm asking for help."

"Start by trying to remember my name. That should occupy your brain enough to distract you for today."

He left without another glance back and Aedryn let out an irritated sigh. Of course it was the one time he had needed assistance for real that Araden had left before he was supposed to. Standing and resuming his tired pacing, Aedryn summoned a page once more.

"Find that stable boy again. I'm sure he's hiding somewhere so you may have to go searching a little harder this time."

"Yes, your Highness."

The prince wondered how long it would take Cyrene to come back, if only for her to yell at him once more. He just needed to see the piercing blue eyes that took him right back to Adelaine. She had shared the same fiery brutality in her eyes, one that could not be replicated easily, and he felt an empty sense of loss when he realized how much had escaped from within his grasp. Four days, only four, and here he was nearly weeping on the floor for some lowlife assassin to come back. How pathetic, wasn't it?

"You insult me and then dare drag me back here? I should fire myself."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Well, at this rate Baldor will. Besides, isn't Jeminaire supposed to be your advisor?"

"He quit and left two weeks ago. I never told anyone."

"I can't blame him. The thought has crossed my mind more than once in the past few days."

"Well, never mind that. I need your help and I can't have you running off on me."

"What is it this time?"

"As soon as Cyrene comes back, arrange for her to marry me. On the spot."


End file.
